


Hiding

by curlshire



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 47,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlshire/pseuds/curlshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn’t know why he bullies Louis.  Well, he does, deep down; but he can’t seem to admit to himself that he might just be gay — or that he might just have a crush on the social reject.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry sighed and absently stared up at the chalkboard, his eyes running over the various maths equations without even trying to understand them. He fiddled with his pencil absently, bouncing the rubber eraser off his full bottom lip as the teacher at the front of the class droned on endlessly.

  
The bell finally sounded, jolting all the students out of their spaced-out state as they threw together their books and scurried out of the class. Harry followed after them eagerly, glad to be freed from his class.  
He ran his fingers through his curls, easily dodging through the sea of bustling people as he tried to spot his friends. It wasn’t too hard, normally – he was tall enough that he towered above everyone else, giving him a clear view of anyone in the hallway – but today, his friends were nowhere to be seen.

  
 Suddenly, a shoulder collided with his chest roughly. Harry glanced down to see the boy that had run into him, who lay sprawled across the ground with his books scattered around him, and he was about to reach a hand down to help the boy up when he caught sight of his face. Beautiful blue eyes were nestled in his perfectly sculpted face, his soft fringe falling over one of his eyes in his disheveled state. The smooth, soft-looking tanned skin of his face was tinged pink as he flushed, embarrassed to have run into someone and fallen in front of everyone.

  
Harry blinked a few times, mouth open but no words escaping. All he could do was stare at the other boy’s thin lips; marveling over how smooth and perfect they looked, wonder how they’d melt under his own if he kissed them.

  
_What?_

  
Harry snapped himself out of it, angry with himself for even having the thought. He glanced at his hand, still starting to stretch itself out to help the boy up, and he curled his fingers into a fist, straightening up. “Watch where you’re going,” he snapped, angrily kicking one of the boy’s textbooks across the hallway. A few people cast a glance over to the two boys, snickering when they saw the boy on the floor.

  
Harry’s face burned, as if the boy could somehow hear what he’d been thinking about just seconds ago, but he heard one of his friends call out for him. He turned and stormed in the direction of the familiar voice without another glance to the boy, even though he was itching to turn and look back into his beautiful eyes again. No, don’t think like that, he snapped to himself. He wasn’t gay. He _wasn’t_.

  
 “What happened there?” Harry’s friend, Zayn, murmured with an eyebrow raise. He absently flicked his cigarette lighter on and off with one hand, leaning next to his open locker.

  
Harry shrugged, reaching into Zayn’s locker and helping himself to a stick of cool peppermint gum. He needed something to snap him out of whatever the hell was wrong with him, and he was hoping that the cool burst of menthol would help. “Some kid walked into me. Wasn’t looking where he was going,” Harry grumbled, though he knew that he’d been the one to walk into the other boy. He’d been so busy looking for his friends that he hadn’t even noticed the smaller boy, but he was still so angry at the boy for making him feel so flustered. He felt slightly guilty for kicking his textbook across the floor, though – that might have been a bit much.

  
“Yeah, that’s Louis Tomlinson. He’s a proper freak.” Zayn grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his locker before slamming it shut.

  
 Harry cast a glance over to see the boy – Louis, he reminded himself – scurrying around on his hands and knees, gathering up the papers and books he’d dropped. His eyes were focused on the ground, jaw clenched like he was fighting back tears as a few people called out teasing insults at him, kicking his papers across the floor like Harry had done.

  
 “’M going out for a smoke. Wanna come?” Zayn asked, tapping the small cardboard pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

  
 Harry normally hated going out to the smokers’ area with Zayn, but he felt the need to go out and get some fresh air – even if that fresh air was polluted with the reek of tobacco. He pulled his eyes off Louis’s small, hunched-up form and gave a slight nod to Zayn. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

  
-

  
 Ever since the first time Harry had seen Louis, he had been unable to forget about the boy, but every time those beautiful eyes invaded Harry’s thoughts (which was quite often, _especially_ at night) he found himself overcome with anger. Why was he so entranced with Louis? Why did he find himself craving the touch of Louis’s smooth lips on his own? Why did he want nothing more than to knot his fingers in his silky hair and pull their faces together in an intense, heat-filled kiss?

  
 This anger seemed to have its own way of expressing itself.

  
“Morning, fuck-face,” Harry found himself saying the second time he saw Louis, and, okay, maybe it wasn't the most _creative_ of insults, but it did get the point across. The smaller boy was hunched over, head practically encased in his locker as he tried to grab his books without attracting any attention from the football team, who was lurking just a few meters away.

  
 Louis winced, head snapping up to cast a cautious glare at Harry. He didn’t recognize the voice as one of his usual bullies; but then again, he seemed to be fair game these days. His eyes darted up beneath the fringe of his thick lashes, flickering up to Harry’s face for just a second, as if he was afraid that looking at Harry too long would only irritate him further.

  
 In that brief second, Harry felt his stomach churn. The eyes he hadn’t been able to get out of his head were finally looking deep into his again, even more perfect than he remembered. His breath caught in his throat, and for a second all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around the nervously hunched-up figure and apologize for his behavior; he wanted to try and kiss away the scars left behind from the words of his cruel classmates.

  
 _Stop thinking that,_  Harry snapped at himself, cringing as he realized what he’d just been thinking. He clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. It made no sense, but somehow he had convinced himself that these thoughts were all Louis’s fault.

  
And yet, as soon as Louis looked away, Harry was desperate to have those eyes back on him.

  
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Harry blurted out before he realized what he was saying. His tone was mocking; smooth and even, with a slight cold edge to it.

  
Louis winced, shifting around slightly and pressing his back up against his locker. His eyes slowly trailed up Harry’s body begrudgingly, coming to a halt at Harry’s neck, as if he was unable to make full eye contact with him again. “What do you want?” he asked quietly, but still loud enough that Harry could hear the silky rich tone of his voice.

  
Harry’s mouth grew dry, but he forced himself to speak. “Aren’t you going to apologize for running into me yesterday?” he asked, his lower lip jutting out in a mock-pout.  
Louis didn’t say anything; his eyes simply flickered down to stare at Harry’s shoes, waiting for the tall boy to have his fun so he would leave him alone.

  
 “No? What a shame,” Harry said with a quiet _tsk_. He waited for Louis’s eyes to flicker back up to his again, so he could revel in his intense gaze, but his eyes stayed trailed on the floor. Desperate for his full attention, Harry let his foot reach out, jamming into his locker and knocking all his belongings onto the floor. Everything was suddenly sprawled across the tile – binders, textbooks, loose papers, and his pencil case. The lid to the pencil case opened, letting a slew of pencils, pens, and highlighters go rolling across the hall with a loud clatter, and Louis suddenly sprang into action, his small hands scurrying to pick up as much of his stuff as he could before the other students realized what had happened. He didn’t doubt that people would make a game out of kicking his stuff across the floor – that seemed to be one of their favorite games, in fact.

  
 “Better clean that mess up quickly. Class starts in two minutes,” Harry said, and Louis’s gaze flickered up to his, making Harry’s heart skip a beat. Louis’s gaze wasn’t as intense and withdrawn as it had been before, though; there were slight lines creasing around the corners as he clenched his jaw, his blue orbs filled with anger and hurt and unspoken defiance as they stared up into Harry’s own green ones. At first, Harry was a little taken aback, but the feeling of being acknowledged by Louis, of knowing he had his full attention – that alone was enough to make up for any guilt that flooded through him.

And so, with one last kick to Louis’s biology textbook that sent it to the other side of the hallway, Harry turned and walked away, pleased and buzzing with adrenaline.

 

-

 

Louis was the only thought on Harry’s mind for the rest of the morning.  It was like a guilty pleasure; Harry knew he shouldn’t be so absorbed in the boy, but he couldn’t help himself.  The look that Harry had seen in Louis’s eyes before he left was burned into his brain.  Louis was normally rather quiet and withdrawn, but in his eyes Harry could see the anger and fierce defiance that sparked in his blue orbs.

“You all right, mate?” Zayn asked as soon as the boys walked out of fourth period. “You’ve been a bit…spacey this morning.”

Harry shook himself out of his thoughts. “Hm?  What?  Yeah,” he mumbled absently, starting off down the hall towards Zayn’s locker.

Zayn paused, not walking with Harry. “You go on, I’ll meet up with you.  I’ve got to talk to someone,” he murmured, quickly whirling around and weaving through the crowd.

Harry made a face but shrugged it off, stopping at Zayn’s locker – he already knew the combination, anyways – and dumping his books carelessly inside.  He cast around a glance to make sure Zayn wasn’t in sight before helping himself to a handful of Skittles from the resealable bag hidden under Zayn’s biology textbook.

“…just want to make sure I know who’s showing up.” A deep familiar voice came into earshot, and Harry craned his neck to see Zayn standing with Louis, chatting away.

Louis gave a tentative nod and said something, but his voice was too quiet for Harry to hear – his words didn’t carry through the hall, getting lost in the chatter of other students.

Zayn flashed a quick grin, giving Louis a light pat on the shoulder to hint that he had to go. “Well, I’ll see you after school then.”

Louis returned the smile, even though it looked forced.  He turned away from Zayn, walking past Harry, and his eyes flickered over to Harry’s own green orbs, their gazes locking for a brief second before Louis quickly cast his eyes down at the ground, hunching his shoulders in defensively and walking just a little bit faster.

Harry suddenly felt inexplicable jealousy bubble up in his stomach as he remembered the way Zayn had just freely patted Louis’s shoulder and flashed him a quick grin, like they were best mates or something.  Since when was Zayn chummy with _Louis_?

“Sorry about that, I had to – oi, did you take some of my Skittles?” Zayn accused, noticing the rainbow streaks across Harry’s tongue.

Harry frowned, ignoring the question. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing, really.  Football tryouts are tonight, and I just wanted to know if he’d be trying out this year,” Zayn explained, and Harry fixed him with a confused glare. “Yeah, I know he’s a bit of a freak, but he’s amazing on the pitch.”

“What time are the tryouts?” Harry asked, feigning disinterest as he turned to fiddle with one of the pictures taped to the inside of Zayn’s locker.

Zayn snorted. “You’re not thinking of trying out, are you?”

“Why, what’s wrong with me trying out?”

“Nothing, except Louis will be there, and you two don’t exactly seem to get on.  Besides…you suck at football.”

Harry pouted. “Do not,” he grumbled under his breath, but Zayn simply fixed him with an amused smirk. “Er, I mean…I just want to try doing some sports this year.  Get in shape, y’know?”

Zayn made a face. “Well, maybe you could be the water boy or something,” He teased.

Harry rolled his eyes and punched his friend lightly in the shoulder.  He found his eyes running over the faces filling the hallway, searching for Louis, but once he realized what he was doing he quickly snapped himself out of it.  _Just a few more hours and you can play a nice game of football against Louis…and maybe see him in his football kit_.  No, that thought wasn’t much better, but it did make a grin work its way onto his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Football tryouts don't go exactly how Harry planned, and his thoughts about Louis show up in an interesting new way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is ridiculously short, sorry about that! x

 “Okay, everyone get in a line!  You lot, would you put down those protein bars for two bloody seconds?” The coach hollered, trying to round up the rowdy crowd of boys.

Harry’s eyes scanned the group, hovering on Zayn, who was this year’s team captain.  He wore the title proudly, hovering next to the coach with a clipboard and a whistle clutched in his hand.  But Zayn wasn’t the face he was looking for; in fact, Louis wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Okay, let’s go through the sign-up roster, shall we?” The coach suggested once the boys had quieted down a bit, holding up the sign up sheet and, clearing his throat, starting to go through the names. “Adams, Kyle?”

“Here,”

“Briers, Michael?”

“Here,”

Harry zoned out as the coach continued to drag through the list, countless boys each piping up to announce their presence.  He still couldn’t find Louis, and while there were a lot of boys here, there weren’t so many that Louis could easily get lost in them.  A single glance at the confused look on Zayn’s face told Harry that his friend was just as worried over the absence of the quiet boy.

“…Styles, Harry?”

“Mm?  Oh, uh, here.” Harry tuned back in, offering a sheepish nod.

The coach grunted. “Tomlinson, Louis?”

Silence.

“Tomlinson, Louis?” The man repeated gruffly.

Still nothing.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” He grumbled under his breath. “Louis Tomlinson?” He was yelling by this point, eyes desperately searching for one of his star players.

“There he is,” Zayn murmured, eyes flickering out to the lithe boy sprinting across the yard towards the pitch.

“Tomlinson!  Don’t bother getting comfortable in line; go run 5 laps for being late.”

“Coach, isn’t it a bit early to be punishing people like—” Liam Payne, one of the returning players, suggested lightly.

“Don’t start with me, Payne, or you’ll be joining him,” the coach snapped, casting a pointed look at Liam, who quickly shut up. “Go on, Tomlinson.”

Harry’s eyes were locked on Louis’s face as he pressed his thin lips into a grim line, dropping his bag on the ground before trotting off to the edge of the pitch.

“This is not a joke, boys.  If you want to be on this team, you have to work for it.  You can’t just prance around on a pitch and expect to stay on the team.  So if anyone isn’t prepared to take this seriously, you can leave right now.” The coach crossed his arms as his hard-set eyes swept over all the boys.  A few of the younger students shifted nervously, but none of them walked away – no matter how much some of them seemed to want to.

“Great.  Then you can all join Tomlinson for 3 warm up laps, then come back and give me 30 push ups, 50 sit ups, and 100 jumping jacks.”

Harry grimaced, suddenly wondering if it was worth going through all this exercise and exerting so much effort just to…wait, why was he here again?  His eyes flickered over to Louis, who was just passing the boys as he started another lap, but he quickly shook the thought out of his head.  He wasn’t here for Louis, he just…wanted to get better at football.  Sure, that was it.

Harry trotted over to the side of the pitch, speeding up a bit more than he would have liked so he was running alongside Louis.  He found himself already struggling to keep his breath even at such a high speed, but Louis didn’t even sound like he was panting.  As Harry took another look, he realized that Louis’s expression looked so at-ease, like he was just going for a casual walk rather than sprinting.

“Are you following me, fuck-face?” Harry drawled, trying to push himself so he was running just a little bit ahead of Louis.

Louis’s face twisted in a slight dry smirk, but he bit down on his lip to keep from saying anything.

“What’s so funny?”

 “You run like my nan,” Louis laughed, suddenly picking up his speed substantially and leaving Harry trailing pathetically behind him.

Harry felt himself falter, hearing the full power of Louis’s voice for the first time.  His tone wasn’t meek or shy like it had been the first time he’d spoken; this time, Harry could hear the rich tone to it, the dry humor as he made a sarcastic and bitter remark.  For a brief second, he didn’t even care that he’d just been made fun of.  In fact, as his eyes caught sight of Louis’s ass in his shorts as he ran, it was the furthest thing from his mind.

 _What the fuck?  No, snap out of it_ , Harry snapped to himself, shaking his head to try and clear the thoughts from his mind.  His face settled into a grimace as he picked up the pace, glowering at Louis’s back as he grew further and further ahead of him, vowing to kick his ass on the pitch and make him eat his words.

By the end of the tryouts, Harry felt ready to collapse.  His legs were aching, his chest was burning from constant panting, and his muscles felt like they weighed a ton.

“That was pathetic,” Zayn laughed into Harry’s ear after the coach blew the whistle to signify the end of try-outs.

“Oh, shut up,” Harry grumbled, casting a quick glance out of the corner of his eye to make sure no one else was in earshot.  Louis was still running agilely across the pitch, the ball easily bouncing off his toes as he kicked it back over towards the coach.  He looked like he was right at home on the pitch, the usual meek hunched look to him replaced with an intense concentrated expression.

“Okay, lads.  I’ll have the list posted up tomorrow morning on the gym doors.  Great job…most of you.” The coach’s eyes caught Harry’s gaze as he said this, and Harry blushed.  He could hear a snicker poorly disguised as a cough, and he glanced over to see Louis biting his lips to keep a smirk from spreading across his features.

Harry clenched his hands into fists as the crowd of boys dispersed, all heading back to the change room, but Harry broke away from them.  He stormed over to Louis, grabbing his shoulder and roughly yanking the smaller boy so they were face to face.  He felt his breath catch in his throat as his eyes honed in on Louis’s lips, so thin and pink and perfect, and the flush of exertion in his smooth tanned skin.  He just wanted to crush his lips against Louis’s; kiss him until neither boy could even remember their name.  It was then that he realized he still hadn’t let go of Louis’s shoulder, and he quickly pulled his hand down.

“What’s so funny?” He demanded, remembering the quiet snicker he’d let out.

Louis bit down on his cheek, as if he wanted to make a sarcastic remark but was fighting it back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grumbled, turning to try and push past Harry to head towards the change room.

Harry reached forward, grabbing Louis’s wrist and pulling him back. “Don’t take an attitude with me, Tomlinson.” He snapped.

“Oh, so I’ve upgraded from ‘Fuck-Face’ to ‘Tomlinson’?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed into slits and he balled his hands into fists.  Louis noticed this, and he winced slightly as if he thought Harry was about to hit him. “You’d better watch yourself,” Harry muttered, forcing himself to turn away from Louis and heading back to the change room, trying not to remember how fucking hot Louis had looked with the light sheen of dewy sweat that had clung to his skin and matted his hair to his face.

 

 

-

 

  Harry jolted awake, chest heaving as he sucked in deep breaths.  He could feel the sweat beaded across his skin, the sheets all kicked off his bed and sitting in a pile on the floor.  He remembered the dream that he’d just been having – tanned skin, a familiarly rich voice, beautiful blue eyes – and he groaned as he collapsed back onto the pillow.  He could feel his erection pressing almost painfully against his boxers, and he wanted to die of utter humiliation as he realized he’d just been having a wet dream about _Louis fucking Tomlinson_.

  “No, no, no.  Why me?” Harry groaned, pulling his sheets up off the ground and over his head, wondering if he could just stay under the covers for the rest of his life.

  As he stared up at the flannel sheet draped over his face, the details of his dreams came running back to him; hot, wet lips slipping and sliding over his length, smooth tongue licking a stripe up the underside of his cock and swirling around his head, light fingers ghosting over his inner thighs.

  “Oh, fuck it.” Harry grumbled, pulling the covers off his head and reaching down, snaking his fingers under his boxers to grab his painfully hard erection.  Enough precome had leaked out of the tip to leave a noticeable wet patch on the front of his boxers, and it provided easy lubrication as he gripped his cock and began tugging at it, twisting and flicking his wrist desperately.  He normally took his time with this, trying to build up to it and start out slowly, but he craved release; he didn’t know how long he’d been hard in his sleep, but even when he’d had other wet dreams, they’d never been this intense.

  As Harry continued to tug at his cock feverishly, his mind wandered back to the dream.  He imagined Louis’s hands, small and warm and smooth, wrapped around him; girlish fingers expertly gripping his cock and flicking his wrist just so.  Harry’s other hand snaked up and dug itself into his curls, knotting and pulling, and he imagined Louis pulling Harry’s head back, right before pressing a bruising kiss to his lips.  He thought of the look in Louis’s eyes, dark and needy, as he climbed down the bed, settling at Harry’s knees to lick a hot wet stripe up along the length of his cock, and that was all it took.

  “Fuck, _Louis_ ,” Harry gasped, a pained whimper escaping his lips as his hips bucked off the bed, his back arching.  His own come, thick and sticky, shot across his hand and his stomach, littering the sheets and making his toes curl.

  Harry’s skin felt electric, every cell tingling and alight as he panted, a quivering mess in his own bed.  He didn’t even bother properly cleaning up; he simply pulled off his damp boxers with shaking hands, using them to wipe as much of the come off his skin as he could before rolling over and trying to go back to sleep.

 

 

 

-

 

  When Harry rolled out of bed the next morning, he felt like a wreck.  His sleep had been restless, filled with more dreams of fucking Louis.  He’d woken up with the worst morning wood he’d ever had, though it didn’t take him too long to _take care_ of that issue as he recalled his dreams from the past night.  He put on his headphones and tried to blast his thoughts away with painfully loud music, though the thought of Louis stayed in the deepest corners of his mind throughout the day.

  Zayn seemed to notice something was wrong, but Harry was grateful that he didn’t say anything as the two boys walked down the hall to check the football roster.

  “Do you even care if you made the team or not?” Zayn asked finally, unable to bear the thick silence.

  Harry realized that Zayn probably thought Harry was quiet simply because he was nervous about the football tryouts. “Not really,” He admitted with a shrug.

  Zayn sighed a breath of relief. “Oh, good.”

  Harry’s brows furrowed. “Why?” He asked, suddenly suspicious.

  “Er…no reason,” He lied.

  “You saw the results already, didn’t you?” Harry grumbled, though Zayn didn’t even have to answer. “Of course you did, you’re the team captain.  You probably helped _make_ the list.  So what, did I not make the team or something?” Harry shrugged.

  “No, you…uh, you made the team.” Zayn stammered nervously.

  “Then…what’re you on about?” Harry was growing apprehensive, the guilty look on Zayn’s face only adding to his worries.

  “Er…you’ll see.” Was all Zayn said as they approached the doors to the gymnasium.

  A small crowd of boys had gathered around the doors, trying to sneak a peek at the list.  Harry could hear the excited whispers and disappointed groans coming from various boys as they saw their spot on the list.

  Harry ducked through the boys to the front of the crowd, his eyes skimming down the list and searching for his name. “ _Water boy_?” He repeated incredulously.  He spun around, trying to glare at Zayn, but he found himself face-to-face with Louis as the smaller boy tried to get a peek at the list over Harry’s shoulder.

  Louis’s lips parted slightly in surprise, and all Harry could think about was how those lips would feel sliding over his cock like they had in his dream the night before.

  “Out of my way,” Harry grumbled, shoving past Louis and jamming his hands in his pockets in a desperate attempt to conceal the growing bulge that was starting to press against his jeans.

  “Look, Harry, I’m sorry about the whole ‘water boy’ thing.” Zayn sighed, automatically attributing Harry’s irritated air to the football team results.

  Harry was glad that Zayn hadn’t seen his reaction to seeing Louis. “What?  Oh, no, that’s fine.  It’s not like I’m going to actually show up or anything, right?” He brushed it off with a chuckle, nudging Zayn in the ribs lightly with his elbow.

  Zayn didn’t seem to find it funny. “What?  You have to show up.  Do you know how much I begged the coach to give you a spot on the team?”

  “Apparently you didn’t beg enough, because I’m not on the team.” Harry fired back.  He didn’t mean to sound ungrateful – he knew Zayn really had tried his best to get Harry a spot on the team – but there was _no way_ he was going to sit on a pitch watching Louis fucking Tomlinson prance around in little football shorts and handing him water whenever the little bastard broke a sweat.

  “Coach said he’ll let you watch the games and take part in practices, and if you get better he might move you up to a spot on second string.” Zayn paused, casting a glance at Louis as if he knew what Harry was so apprehensive above. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Louis, but if you want to one-up, you can’t beat getting your ass handed to you in a football practice by the water boy.”

  Harry crinkled his nose, trying to come up with any other decent excuse apart from “I don’t want to”, but nothing came to him. “Fine, I’ll do it.  But don’t say I never do anything for you.”

  Zayn scoffed, wondering how him begging the coach to let Harry play turned into Harry doing _him_ a favor, but he didn’t push his luck.

 

 

 

-

  Football turned out to be an utter disaster.  Harry couldn’t even look at Louis without remembering his dreams from the night before, and he could see the other players snickering at him as he sat on the bench, passing out water and towels and setting up the pylons for passing exercises.

 Even Louis seemed to be fighting back a laugh at Harry’s expense.  Harry wasn’t sure if he just felt at home on the pitch or if he was enjoying Harry’s misery, but he had been much more confident since he’d started playing.  For instance, he didn’t glance away every time he and Harry locked eyes and he didn’t hunch away from him when Harry handed him water, though he still didn’t say anything; the only sign that he was even paying Harry any mind was the way his thin lips were curved up into a small smile.

  By the time the tryouts were over, Harry felt like punching something.  He’d been smirked at by almost everyone – even Zayn was biting back a smug grin – and even now that all the players got to leave, he was stuck collecting their sweaty towels and empty water bottles off the pitch.

  “I’ll see you on Monday, okay mate?” Zayn said just as Harry was bending over to scoop up a few more towels.  He gave the curly-haired boy a reassuring pat on the back before trotting off with his teammates, all laughing and joking and looking so tight-knit.

  Harry glowered at Zayn’s retreating figure, balling his hands into fists around the towels he was holding.

  “Styles!  Great, you’re still here.” The coach grunted, pulling his cap off to scratch at his balding head. “Look, before you go, there’s a few more things that need to be done.  The pylons need to be collected and washed, the footballs need to be checked and re-inflated as necessary, the water bottles need to be washed and refilled and put back in the fridge, the towels need to be put in my office to be washed, and the boys’ change room needs to be cleaned and locked up.”

  Harry felt himself pale. “What?”

  “Well, you didn’t think all you had to do was serve the lads some water, did you?” The coach barked out a laugh.

  “Well I thought that being a _water_ boy was pretty self-explanatory.” Harry grumbled, glaring at the messy pitch.

  The coach crinkled his nose at Harry’s snarky tone. “Get a move on, Styles.  Lock up with these, and don’t lose them.” He said as he tossed him the change room keys.

  Harry grimaced, wishing he’d never tried out in the first place.  He was going to kill Zayn for sticking him with such a shit job.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry runs into Louis after football practice, and things get rather intimate.

  It took Harry two hours to finish everything.  It probably wouldn’t have taken him so long if he hadn’t been so busy sulking and feeling sorry for himself the whole time through, but he still couldn’t believe he was stuck doing such menial tasks.  Wasn’t this a job for the coach or the team captain?  At the very least, they could have _helped_ him.

  It was already dark when he stepped out of the boys’ change room, locking the door behind him.  He grimaced and pulled his hood up over his curls, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he trudged on along the track.  This part of the school yard was dark and deserted to the point of almost being creepy; there were several large oak trees that cut off the bit of light that managed to make it to this side of the field, although the nearest streetlamp was on the other side of the track so there wasn’t much light to shield.

  Harry shivered even though the night air was warm, pulling his jumper tighter around him and taking the shortcut.  Upon turning past the largest tree in the field, he caught a small silhouetted figure out of the corner of his eye.  He turned to see Louis nestled in against the base of the tree, knees tucked into his chest

  “What’s wrong, fuck-face?” Harry found himself muttering mockingly, stopping at Louis’s feet.

  Louis sighed. “You know, out of all the stupid names people call me, ‘fuck-face’ has to be one of the least creative.” He said, looking up through the thick fringe of his lashes to meet Harry’s gaze.

  Harry hadn’t expected Louis to respond at all, much less in such a snarky way, but he couldn’t even be he was too fascinated with the way the moon filtered through the leaves, casting pale patterns across his golden cheeks.  He just wanted to knot his fingers through Louis’s silky hair, pull his face close, and – _no_. “What did you say to me?”

  Louis scoffed dryly. “I’m not afraid of you, _Harry_.” He hissed out Harry’s name venomously. “Worse things have happened to me than being called some stupid name.”

  Harry reached forward suddenly, grabbing Louis’s shoulder roughly and pulling him forward.  Louis stumbled forward onto his knees unexpectedly, his hands flying forward to steady himself and landing on Harry’s thighs, fingers closing around his legs.  Harry’s breath caught as he realized Louis was at eye-level with his cock, and all he wanted to do was to fuck his perfect little mouth and paint his pretty face with come.

  As soon as he realized what he’d been thinking, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from laying a heavy punch to Louis’s cheekbone.  Louis’s body went flying back from the impact, landing with a hard _thud_ against the tree.  His head lolled forward limply and he winced, his hands flying up to cover his face from any further blows.  His knees pulled into his chest again as he scrambled closer to the tree, shielding himself from Harry as best as he could and just waiting for the attack to be over.

  There was something too _practiced_ about the way Louis balled himself up and just waited to take whatever physical abuse Harry dished out.  It was like he was used to this, he had found the best way to arrange himself to minimize the damage.  Harry suddenly realized exactly what he’d just done, and he shook out his aching fist.

  After several long moments of waiting for another blow, Louis dared to cast a quick glance at Harry. “Why aren’t you doing anything?” He asked quietly.  Harry didn’t respond, so Louis pressed further. “Just hit me, kick me, do _something_ and fucking get it over with!”

  Harry grabbed a fistful of Louis’s shirt and pulled him to his feet, and Louis winced again, prepared for whatever Harry had for him, but instead of a punch, he felt a firm hand cup under his chin.  His face was lifted up to Harry’s, full and soft lips crushing his in a bruising kiss.  Harry’s lips forced his own open, hot breath filling his mouth as Harry’s tongue licked into his mouth.

  Harry’s hands seemed to be everywhere; they were trailing up under Louis’s shirt to skim over the sensitive skin of his waist, they were yanking Louis’s football shorts off, and then they were fiddling with the snaps of his own jeans.  He didn’t even stop to see if Louis was okay; he knew if he stopped he would start thinking about how _fucking wrong_ this all was and he knew he was in too deep to think about that as Louis’s shorts and boxers hit the grass.

  Harry took Louis’s cock in his hand, long calloused fingers stroking over his sensitive length and making Louis whimper into Harry’s mouth.  Harry let his thumb swirl over the head of Louis’s dick, using the precome to slick up his length and ease some of the friction, and by this point Louis seemed to be melting into his arms.

  Louis was the first to break the kiss, sucking in deep gasps of air through his swollen and kiss-darkened lips.  Harry took this opportunity to let his lips trail down Louis’s jaw, stopping to suck a proud bruise on his delicate collarbone.  He smirked slightly at the red mark, knowing that everyone would be able to see it the next day and they would know that Louis was _taken_.  There was a thought creeping back into Harry’s mind that Louis shouldn’t be his; Harry should be doing this with some chick with big tits and long legs and a low IQ, but he silenced the thought by pressing his index and middle finger to Louis’s quivering lips.

  “Suck,” He commanded harshly.  His eyes burned into Louis’s, dark and lustful and just daring him not to obey.

  Louis parted his lips slightly, taking Harry’s fingers into his mouth.  His tongue flicked out, giving kittenish licks to the pads of Harry’s fingers before he bobbed his head all the way down to the base of Harry’s long fingers.  Harry bit back a moan, trying not to imagine how perfect Louis’s mouth would feel on his – now achingly-hard – cock.  Louis’s eyes stayed locked with Harry’s, a million unspoken words swimming in his glassy blue orbs, but Harry just watched him suck his digits breathlessly, admiring the way his lips slid across his pale skin.

  “Enough,” Harry said, though his voice was softer this time; more of a praise than a command.  He spun Louis around and grabbed his arms, placing his hands on the tree and leaning him forward so his arse was presented up in the air.  The fingers that Louis had just sucked were dancing around his puckered entrance, earning quiet whimpers and shivers from Louis, and Harry let his other hand gently stroke and knead across the flesh of Louis’s ass.

  Harry let his index finger push inside Louis, slowly at first, not stopping until he was fully buried inside the smaller boy.  Louis took in a sharp breath, the air hissing through his teeth, and Harry could see him twist his hands against the bark of the tree as he tried to bite back any other noises.  Harry didn’t give him a chance to recover – he _wanted_ Louis to be loud, he decided as he pulled his finger out before driving it back in again.  He continued the smooth motion, slowly stretching Louis out, before he curved his finger to easily hit Louis’s prostate.  He had learned this technique watching much more gay porn than he would have cared to admit, but he was pleased to see that it worked as Louis’s knees quivered dangerously underneath him, a whispered “ _shit_ ” breathing past Louis’s lips.

  Harry smirked, pleased with himself as he pulled his finger back out, this time slipping in his middle finger as well.  Louis’s whimpers grew louder, and though he fell forward into the tree and away from Harry, he found himself pressing his ass up into Harry’s hand desperately.  Harry was surprised at how little prep Louis took; he didn’t even seem to be pained by the sudden second digit stretching him out.  It made him excited to see how Louis took his cock, and he let his fingers curl inside Louis again at the thought.

  Louis nearly fell to the ground, his fingernails digging into the bark as he tried desperately to keep himself up like he was afraid that Harry would stop if he couldn’t keep himself upright.  Harry continued scissoring Louis until he was sure that the smaller boy would come from just his fingers if he didn’t stop, and when he suddenly pulled his fingers completely out of Louis he could hear a disappointed whimper coming from the smaller boy, who cast a confused glance over his shoulder at Harry.

  A smirk played at Harry’s lips as he realized how worked up Louis was for him. “Take these off,” Harry instructed, pointing to his jeans.  His cock was pushing up uncomfortably against them, and though he’d already gotten the snaps and zips undone, it did little to ease the restricting fabric.

  Louis tentatively obeyed, pulling the dark jeans down Harry’s legs along with his boxers.  He took Harry’s cock in his hand, stroking him fully for a few seconds before lowering his head to lick the head of it.

  Harry’s hand shot out, cupping Louis’s chin and holding him back. “Not this time,” He murmured, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hold out for very long if he saw Louis sucking him off like this.

  Louis gave him a confused glance, trying to figure out if Harry planned on this happening again, but he had little time to voice his confusion as Harry pulled him back up to his feet, hooking one of his legs around his own waist.  Louis’s small hands dug into Harry’s shoulders as he tried to keep himself steady, his forehead resting on Harry’s chest as the curly-haired boy positioned himself at Louis’s entrance.  He was so wound up that he could only hope there was enough precome at the tip of his cock to lube them up – he wasn’t stopping to find any alternative now, after all.

  Louis gasped as Harry slowly lowered the smaller boy onto his cock. “Fuck,” He hissed out lowly, sounding broken and desperate.

  Harry felt just as overwhelmed, his cock swallowed up in Louis’s velvety heat, but he didn’t want to make any sound; he just wanted to hear Louis.  To keep himself quiet, he let himself nuzzle his face into Louis’s neck, leaving another proud love bite against his smooth perfect skin.

  There was a pause as Harry tried to catch his breath, letting Louis get accustomed to the stretch, but it was only a few seconds before he felt him start to wriggle his hips in a needy attempt to earn more friction.  Harry couldn’t imagine how Louis was already comfortable with the stretch, unless…he hadn’t fucked another guy before, had he?

  The thought made Harry angry, and he pressed his thumb deep into one of the bruises on Louis’s collarbone possessively, making Louis bite on his quivering lower lip.  He grabbed Louis’s arms, pinning them up above his head by the wrists as he started a punishing rhythm, plunging deep into Louis’s quivering body mercilessly.

  “Mine,” Harry growled, his eyes fierce.  He didn’t even know what the hell was wrong with him – he was only fucking Louis, after all; why did Louis have to be _his_? – and yet he couldn’t deny the deep desire for the boy to belong to him and him alone.

  Louis seemed too blissed out to take any notice of how uncalled for Harry’s territorial attitude was.  He knew exactly what Harry wanted to hear, and he nodded eagerly. “Yours, only yours.” He agreed, arching his back to try and press his body closer to Harry.  The change in angle had Harry hitting his prostate smoothly, and he didn’t respond, too blissed out to even take much notice of Harry’s words.  His fingers balled into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms and probably breaking skin, and his tone grew more needy as he breathed out a steady chorus of “yesyesyesyes _fuckyesHarry_ ” into the night air.

  Harry’s mouth was back on Louis’s, one hand leaving Louis’s wrists to move to his cock.  He grasped it tightly, pumping it in long full strokes, matching the rhythm that he was slamming into Louis with.

  “Fuck…” Louis whispered out hoarsely, and Harry was pleased to discover how filthy Louis’s pretty little mouth was when he was being fucked.

  “Come for me,” Harry murmured, more of an order than anything else though his voice was soft.  It didn’t take long for Louis to obey, warm thick come spilling across his own chest and Harry’s hand, and Harry wondered if Louis had been waiting for permission.

  Harry continued to thrust up into Louis for a few moments more, though the smaller boy seemed too high on his orgasm to notice much else, and it wasn’t long before Harry was filling him with his own hot seed, biting Louis’s shoulder and groaning out the boy’s name.

  Louis’s arms fell from Harry’s grip, closing around Harry’s shoulders loosely as the two boys fell to the ground in a mess of sweaty limbs.  For a few blissful moments they both simply stayed there in the grass, resting against the tree and catching their breath.  Harry wondered how badly he’d just fucked things up, but he was too knackered to care as much as he should have.

  “I should be going,” Louis murmured after a few moments, and he rose to his feet on shaking knees.  He pulled on his clothes, not even bothering to wipe the come from his stomach or his ass, ignoring the way it was dripping down the back of his thighs by this point.  As soon as he was dressed, he started to amble off down the track, running his fingers through his just-fucked hair.  He paused after a few steps, turning back to the curly-haired boy and calling out a cautious, “See you tomorrow, Harry.”

  And for the first time in a while, Harry felt a genuine smile tug at his lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up with regrets, and tries to formulate a plan to distance himself from Louis.

  Harry awoke to the annoying buzzing of his mobile.  He grumbled a curse under his breath, rolling onto his side and squinting against the bright light as he read the text.

  _(05:24) Zayn: don’t forget football practice @ 6  :) x_

  Harry grumbled out a curse at his phone, flinging it down on the mattress next to him.  He didn’t particularly feel like getting out of bed, though he knew Zayn would kill him if he missed the practice.  Instead, he lay in bed for a few more minutes  to let himself wake up slowly, his mind running through everything that he had to do today.

  As soon as he remembered what had happened between himself and Louis the night before, a grin spread across his face.  _I fucked Louis Tomlinson_ , He thought to himself proudly.  He repeated the phrase over and over in his head, closing his eyes and trying to remember every last detail of what had happened, but he found that the more he immersed himself in what had happened the more his expression turned from one of smug content to one of despair and horror.  What had he done?

  He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his pillow with a groan, unsure if he wanted to punch himself or Louis.  Maybe he could just stay in his bed all day and let his covers swallow him up so he wouldn’t have to face Louis today.  Harry’s self-loathing was cut short as his mobile buzzed again in the sheets next to him.

  _(05:27) Zayn: i’m serious get out of bed or i’ll kick your ass x_

 If Harry was in a better mood, he might have grinned at the passive-aggressive way Zayn signed off his threat with a kiss; however, all he could do now was scowl at the screen.  He forced himself to climb out of his deliciously warm bed, cringing as his feet touched the cold wood floor.  He dug through the piles of clothes littering his floor, trying to find whatever seemed cleanest.  He pulled on the first relatively clean things he found, trying to smooth out the wrinkles with his palm before finally giving up with a shrug.

  He trudged down the stairs, scarfing down a few pieces of toaster strudel without waiting for them to cool, effectively burning his mouth, but he didn’t much care.  It was too early for him to care – not to mention half his mind was focusing on thoughts of Louis while the other half unsuccessfully tried to block out all thoughts of Louis.  He was already a wreck and it wasn’t even six o’clock yet.

  As soon as Zayn’s car pulled up in front of Harry’s house he was out the door, hoping his best mate could take his mind off his troubles.

  “You look terrible,” Zayn muttered as soon as Harry slid into the front seat of his car.

  “Thanks,” Harry muttered sarcastically.  He caught a glimpse of himself in the side mirror, however, and he couldn’t help but agree with Zayn.  His hair was still a cross between bedhead and sex hair – he remembered now that he had forgotten to brush it this morning – and he’d apparently spilled some jam from the toaster strudel on his wrinkled t-shirt.  His lips were chapped and flaky from kissing Louis, his chin breaking out in red bumps due to irritation from Louis’s stubble.  He looked like hell on legs.

  Zayn shrugged, pulling the car off the curb. “Just being honest, mate.” He grumbled, punctuating his sentence with a quick glance at himself in his rearview mirror to make sure he was perfectly preened. “What time did you finish up last night, anyway?”

  Harry’s eyes widened. “Wh – what do you mean?” He stammered, trying to figure out how the _fuck_ Zayn knew about what had happened.

  “Y’know, gathering the towels and tidying the pitch and cleaning the change room.  That kind of thing.” Zayn explained, brows drawing together to give Harry a strange look.

  Harry let out a long breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Oh.  Er, I don’t know what time it was, exactly…I think it took me around two hours to finish cleaning everything.”

  Zayn made another strange face, though this one seemed more confused than suspicious. “Really?  I stopped round yours last night about 3 hours after practice finished and your mum said she hadn’t seen you.”

  _Shit_. “Um…em, yeah.  I, uh…um…” Harry scanned the car, looking for some sort of inspiration for a quick lie.  His eyes stopped on one of Zayn’s CD’s, and he blurted out, “I stopped at HMV.  Bought a new album.”

  “Oh, which one?” Zayn still seemed curious rather than suspicious, but his nosy nature was putting Harry on edge.

  “Temper Trap.” Harry mumbled, trying to pick a band that Zayn knew he liked to make it believable.

  “I didn’t know they had anything new out.” The raven-haired boy’s lips curved into a frown.

  “Stop interrogating me!” Harry snapped suddenly, collapsing back into the seat and pulling his knapsack over his face.  “It’s too early for this,” he groaned.

  Zayn’s frown deepened, but he stared out at the road and kept driving, pretending not to notice his friend’s strange behavior.

-x-

  “You call that a pass, Devine?  Do it again, but actually put some effort in it this time, yeah?  And Horan, put down that bagel!  I already took a muffin from you this morning, why do you even have so much bloody food?” The coach’s voice boomed angrily, picking random victims from the sea of drowsy boys trying to warm up without collapsing from exhaustion.

  Even Zayn seemed rather out of it, but he didn’t want to let it show.  Though Zayn was far from being any sort of suck up to the coach, he _did_ want to stay on the coach’s good side.  After all, he was the one who could point out the best players to college scouts and help them get scholarships.

  It was at that moment that Harry was happy he wasn’t on the team.  He sat on the bench on the side, resting his head against the back and trying to discretely take a nap while the other boys jogged across the pitch sluggishly.  Okay, so maybe the cold bench that was still wet from the previous night’s rain wasn’t quite as nice as his warm soft bed, but sleep was sleep.

  He had almost started to drift off when he heard the coach holler out one word that had him jolting up: “ _Tomlinson_!”

  Harry felt like he’d been electrocuted, his eyes flying open to watch as Louis hobbled across the field.  He was almost limping, wincing with every step he took, and Harry felt a smug smirk spread across his face despite himself as he realized that Louis’s ass was still sore from the brutal fucking it had received the night before.

  “What’s wrong with you, boy?  Why’re you walking funny?” The coach demanded as Louis dumped his bag on the ground, not bothering to go inside and find a locker.

  Louis shrugged, his eyes tentatively meeting Harry’s over the coach’s shoulder. “Must not have stretched enough yesterday, sir.” Louis mumbled, just barely loud enough for Harry to hear.

  “Y’ve got weird little marks on your neck, too.” The coach pointed out.

  Harry almost snorted; he knew that the coach was thick, but he didn’t think he was stupid enough to not know what a bloody _hickey_ looked like.

 Louis simply shrugged, jamming his hands in his front pockets awkwardly.

  The coach shook his head incredulously. “Give me 150 jumping jacks for being late _two days in a row_.  And you can stay behind after tonight’s practice to help Styles tend to these balls.” The coach pointed to the scuffed and already-deflating footballs being kicked across the pitch.

 “Yes, he’s quite good at tending to balls.” Harry found himself blurting out.

  Louis gave Harry a blank look, like he wasn’t sure if he should be offended or pleased. “Um, I’ll get started on those jumping jacks, sir.” He said, his eyes lingering on Harry’s for a few seconds longer before he turned and headed to a clear spot off the pitch.  With each jumping jack, his face twisted in a pained wince, though he seemed to be trying as hard as he could not to let his discomfort show.  His teeth sank into his lower lip, his sharp jaw clenching and his tanned skin starting to stain with a light flush of exertion.

  “Why’re you watching Louis exercise?”

  Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as a voice murmured lowly in his ear, hot breath ghosting over his neck.  He whirled around to see Zayn watching him with a cross between a mocking smirk and a puzzled frown.

  “No, I wasn’t!” Harry hissed.  He realized he hadn’t even phrased his answer correctly in his haste, and he wanted to kick himself.

  “…Right,” Zayn muttered finally, shaking his head to himself and trotting back onto the field.

  Harry groaned aloud, sinking deeper into a slouch against the back of the bench.  Zayn could detect a lie from a mile away in a complete stranger; there was no way in hell he was fooled by Harry’s shitty lies.  Not to mention he _hated_ being lied to, and he’d do everything he could to force both the truth and an apology from Harry.

  The worst part was that Harry wasn’t even sure if he was sorry.  He wasn’t sorry for lying, that was for damn sure; if anyone found out that he’d fucked Louis Tomlinson he’d be as good as dead.  No, the thing Harry wasn’t sure if he regretted was actually fucking Louis.  It’s not like it was an _unpleasant_ experience, after all, and Louis didn’t seem like he was in any hurry to go spilling the beans about what had happened.  However, Harry knew that what had happened the night before had to stay a one-time thing; if it kept happening, there was no way he could keep hiding it from everyone.  But Harry couldn’t seem to stop himself from letting his mind wander whenever he was near Louis, and it wasn’t as if he could stay away from Louis; after all, the two boys were going to be alone for several hours tonight after practice just tending to the pitch and equipment.

  Basically, Harry was completely, utterly, and disastrously fucked.  And depending on how terrible Harry’s self-control was, perhaps Louis would be fucked as well.

+

  By the end of the school day, Harry had decided that he was simply not going to show up to football practice.  He would tell the coach that he was ill, or that he had to read to the blind, or that his sister was unwell – or maybe he wouldn’t even bother making any excuses.  It wasn’t like the coach didn’t _know_ that Harry hated being the stupid water boy.

  As for Louis, well…Harry didn’t know if he could stand to even look at his face.  All he could think about was the perfect look of ecstasy and pure blissful pleasure that had been on the older boy’s face as Harry had fucked him into the rough bark of the tree the night before.

  Of course, once Harry realized what he was picturing and what dirty thoughts were coming with that mental image, he was simply reassured that the decision to skip practice that night was justified.

 Harry knew that Zayn would be waiting for him by his locker as soon as school finished, so he needed a better plan than just not showing up to practice.  Instead, Harry excused himself from his last class early, complaining of a stomach ache.  His teacher gave him a skeptical look but quickly granted him permission to leave once Harry started to lurch and make gagging sounds.  The class got a bit of a laugh at his expense, but Harry figured it was better to have them chuckle a bit because he was ill than to have them take the mick out of him relentlessly because they knew he’d fucked another boy – namely Louis, the social reject.

  The thought of people knowing his secret made Harry cringe as he scurried out to his locker, making quick work as he dumped his books into it and picked out the night’s homework that he knew he wasn’t going to do but was going to take home anyway.  He ducked his head as he walked past the open door of Zayn’s calculus class, hoping that the raven-haired boy was too busy doodling in his notebook to notice that Harry was making a quick escape.

  As soon as the afternoon sun hit Harry’s skin, he felt a huge weight lift itself off his shoulders.  There was a small voice in the back of his head, nagging and reminding him that he couldn’t run away from this problem forever, but he tried to ignore it as he made his way across the football pitch and followed his usual trail home.

  He stopped short in front of the same tree where he’d seen Louis last night, and he couldn’t help but to stop and look at the spot where Louis had been curled up on a ball against the trunk.  Overall, the spot looked innocent, though Harry wasn’t sure what else he was expecting – it’s not like there was going to be come smeared on the tree or anything – but he felt like there should have been some sort of evidence there, something that would alert passers-by to the events that had taken place there just the previous night.

  Before Harry fully understood what he was doing, he was scaling the side of the tree, his backpack awkwardly slung over the crook of his elbow as he tried to climb up to the thick branches without dropping his stuff.  The bell blared through the field and he panicked, knowing that the football players would be out soon and, if they saw him, he’d have to explain why he was climbing up a tree instead of getting the equipment ready for practice.

  In this situation, most normal people would have stopped climbing the tree and headed off in the opposite direction, going home like they had originally planned.  Harry, however, found himself scampering even faster up the side of the tree, finally succeeding and managing to perch on one of the higher branches that still looked secure enough to sit on.  The leafy foliage did a nice enough job of hiding him, though the leaves were still sparse enough that Harry had a decent view of the pitch from where he sat.

  Harry’s phone vibrated in his pocket, and he scooped it up to read a new text message.

_(14:36) Zayn: where th fuck r u?  been waiting by ur locker, hurry up u twat x_

  A pang of guilt hit Harry right in the gut, and he felt bad for totally ditching Zayn.  He quickly typed back a lame excuse.

_(14:37) You: sorry mate, i felt ill and went home.  give coach a big kiss hello for me x_

  Zayn’s reply was almost immediate.

_(14:39) Zayn: fuck off x_

  Harry wasn’t sure if Zayn was pissed at Harry for skipping practice or for the joke about coach, but either way the fact that he had still signed the message with a kiss meant that Harry was still somewhat in the clear.

  Harry pocketed his phone again, not bothering to reply to Zayn’s message as he watched the pitch slowly start to fill with players.  This time, Louis was one of the first boys on the field, and Harry didn’t blame him for hurrying after the coach’s last few punishments for Louis’s tardiness.  Harry watched as Louis absently dribbled the ball up and down the pitch, and from where he was hidden up in the tree he could just barely see the tip of Louis’s tongue, pink and kittenish, sticking out between his lips in concentration as he tried to practice some rather complicated footwork.  Harry had to admit, he was impressed.  He wasn’t sure where the stereotype about gay men being bad at sports had originated, because Louis was better than most players Harry had ever seen – _including_ some of the professional players.

  Within 10 minutes, the coach had arrived and all of the players were out warming up.  The coach’s voice bellowed through the field as he made his way through reading the roster, making sure everyone who was supposed to be there had shown up.

  Harry was almost offended that his name wasn’t on the list – sure, he wasn’t a player, but he was still supposed to be a part of the team, wasn’t he?  However, his absence didn’t go unnoticed, as it wasn’t long before the coach barked out, “Water boy, fetch me some clean towels.”

  There was a long pause as a few boys turned to give the coach a confused look, but nobody sprang into action.

  The coach tried again. “Styles!  Towels, _today_.”

  Still no reply.

  The coach narrowed his beady eyes and scratched his balding head as he eyed the pitch for some sign of Harry, though he found none.  His lips pressed into a tight line as his eyes found Zayn, and his jaw clenched as he decided on a victim. “Malik, get over here!”

  Zayn’s brow furrowed as he trotted off the pitch.  Harry could barely hear what Zayn said – his voice was far too low and soft to carry across the pitch – but he didn’t have much chance to speak before the coach cut him off.

  “Where’s your friend, the water boy?  You said I could trust him to show up.  I took your word for this, and it’s already coming back to bite me in the arse.” The coach growled.

  Harry’s heart ached for Zayn as a few of the players turned at the coach’s words to watch the scene that was unfolding.  Some of them even took it so far as to snicker at Zayn, and even from so far away Harry could see the pink tinge flushing into Zayn’s cheeks as he pretended not to notice the questioning glances he was getting.

  “He’s just feeling a bit ill, s’all.” Zayn muttered, louder this time.

  “Well he looked just fine to me when I saw him walk past the gym on his way out of school less than half an hour ago.” The coach challenged.

  Harry could see the scowl grow on Zayn’s face. “I’m sure there was just a little misunderstanding,” Zayn protested.

  “Look, Malik, I get that you want to help out your friend.  But the fact that you put some silly little favor over your responsibility to your team makes me think that you can’t handle being team captain.” The coach crossed his arms with a cold look on his face.

  Zayn blanched. “What?  No, coach, I didn’t—”

  Harry didn’t bother listening to the rest, scrambling down the face of the tree and sprinting across the pitch. “Sorry I’m late, coach!  Was feeling a bit ill, had to swing by my house and get some paracetamol.  What’d I miss?” He grinned brightly up at the coach and resting his arm on Zayn’s shoulder casually.

  The coach grunted, slapped his cap back on his head. “Go get the towels.  _Now_.” He barked before turning away, not bothering to even pretend to be glad to see Harry.

  Zayn frowned at Harry. “What the fuck did you do that for, you twat?  Coach nearly took away my spot as team captain!”

  “I know, I heard.” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.

  Zayn gave Harry a dark glare, silently commanding him to explain what had happened, and Harry let out a deep sigh before he began.

  “See, I didn’t want to have to clean up with Louis tonight – and it’s not like I’d need to, Louis could probably do it on his own – so I thought I’d just head home early, but then I climbed a tree and I couldn’t get away without being seen, and then I heard Coach getting pissed with you, so here I am.” Harry gave a goofy grin, hoping his explanation was vague and strange enough that Zayn wouldn’t question it.

  Zayn’s lips pursed angrily. “What?  Why didn’t you want to work with Louis?”

  _Shit_.  Of all parts of the sentence for Zayn to focus on, why did he have to pick the only part Harry was unwilling to talk about? “Um, we just…we don’t really get on, I s’pose.”

  Zayn turned to the field and cupped his hand next to his lips, hollering out, “Tomlinson!”

  Louis perked up at the sound of his name and jogged over to Zayn’s side, his eyes flickering nervously up to meet Harry’s gaze before training themselves to Zayn.  The whole situation couldn’t possibly have been more awkward, Harry realized with an internal groan.

  “Ah, Louis, I’ve got a little request.  See, Harry here needs some training before he’s good enough to try and audition for the football team again.  Since apparently there’s something weird going on with you two, I’ve decided that you’ll be the one to help coach him.  The only way you’ll sort out your differences is by working together to get over them.” Zayn decided.

  Harry snorted. “You sound like some stupid daytime television talk show.” He grumbled.

  Louis frowned, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth. “I don’t really think that’s such a good idea,” He murmured warily.

  “I’ve made up my mind.  It’s starting to impact the team and jeopardize my position as captain, so I’m taking matters into my own hands.” Zayn growled, practically interrupting Louis in his rage.  He turned and stormed off back towards the pitch with Louis following close behind, leaving Harry staring dumbfounded after them, wondering how the hell his attempt to avoid Louis had only ended up bringing them together again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis wind up alone on the football pitch, and things get out of hand...again.

  Harry wrinkled his nose as he picked up the sweat-drenched towels off the empty football pitch, trying to ignore the small shuffling sounds behind him as Louis did the same.  It had been 20 minutes since practice had ended and everyone had left, yet Harry and Louis hadn’t so much as made eye contact.  It was so awkward that it bordered on being actually _physically_ painful, and yet Harry couldn’t figure out what to do to break the tension.

  As it would turn out, Harry didn’t need to think of a way; he turned round to pick up another towel and accidentally stepped on a football.  His foot slipped and his ankle wobbled dangerously as he flailed through the air, landing flat on his arse directly facing Louis.

  Louis dropped all the towels he was holding to clamp a hand over his mouth, biting back laughter. “Are – are you – okay?” he managed to choke out between repressed giggles.

  Harry scowled. “’M fine,” he grumbled as he pulled himself to his feet, giving the ball an angry kick across the pitch.  He watched with satisfaction as the ball went soaring through the air and landed all the way across the street behind the school, but that satisfaction quickly disappeared and a grimace painted itself across his lips as he realized that he would now have to trek all the way over there to get the ball.

  Louis was almost _cackling_ now as he watched Harry’s predicament worsen, his arm clutched over his aching stomach as he keened over. “Here, I’ll – I’ll go get it,” he stammered out.

  Harry sighed and collapsed on his back on the grass, crossing his arms behind his head as he waited for Louis to return.  A part of him wanted to be angry at Louis for laughing at him, but another part of him wanted to laugh along with Louis because his laugh was just so contagious and wonderful.  Since couldn’t decide which part to listen to, he decided to simply not do anything.

  Louis returned a few moments later with the football tucked neatly under his arms, his cheeks still flushed and his lips still pinched up from his earlier hysterics. “C’mon, we’ve still got this entire list to finish,” Louis murmured, fishing out the list of tasks from his pocket.

  “No,” Harry said firmly. “I don’t feel like it.”

  He expected Louis to tell him to get up and help, so he was surprised when Louis simply dropped to sit down on the grass next to Harry, knees tucked into his chest as he crumpled up the list into a ball.  There was a thick silence for the next few moments as Harry stared up at the sky and Louis fiddled with the grass on either side of him, but Louis finally spoke to break the tension.

  “So, are we going to talk about what happened yesterday?” he murmured in a small voice.

  Harry scoffed. “Blimey, you’re such a girl,” he said, but his voice was light and void of any real venom. “Why do we have to talk about it?”

  “Because I’d quite like to know if you’re going to be pounding my face or my arse from hereon out.” Louis’s voice was a little sharper now.

  Harry sighed and cast a glance up at Louis, trying to read the expression on his face, only to feel the wind escape from his lungs.  The sun’s reflection was pooling in Louis’s deep blue eyes and his lower lip was caught between his teeth, the smooth skin of his neck still printed with Harry’s lovebites like a mark of ownership.  Harry could feel his resolve slipping away, and his mind scrambled to find some way to insult Louis again.  If the only way to keep Louis from looking at him like this was to offend him, Harry would have to do it.

  “So, you’re gay,” Harry found himself saying, and he winced as he realized what topic his mind had given him.  He really had nothing against gay people, and he didn’t really want to turn into a homophobic twat.

  Louis nodded, his eyes alight with a strange determination. “Yes, I am,” he said firmly, not even slightly ashamed of it.

  Harry admired him for being so sure and open about it, but he swallowed the feeling. “Figured,” was all he could say.

 “It’s not exactly a secret,” Louis said with a short, humorless laugh that Harry couldn’t read. “Why, are you still claiming to be straight?”

  “I _am_ straight.” Harry growled, bolting up to a sitting position and fixing Louis with a challenging glare.

  Louis simply smirked knowingly. “A straight boy who likes fucking other boys,” he mused aloud.

  Harry couldn’t even be angry with Louis, no matter how much he wanted to be. “I’m working on it,” he muttered.

  “What, on your sexuality?  Or on fucking boys?” Louis teased, but Harry could hear the warm tone to his voice.  When Harry didn’t reply, Louis heaved a sigh and spoke again in a sympathetic tone. “It’s tough, figuring out your sexuality.”

  “There’s nothing to figure out.  I’m straight,” Harry said, but even he heard the disturbing lack of conviction in his voice.

  “Ah, I see.  Is that what you were telling yourself while you were shoving your dick up my arse?” Louis said lightly, raising his eyebrows and letting the corners of his lips quirk up in a smirk.

  Harry’s scowl returned. “Look, you fucking fruitcake—”

  “People in glass houses,” Louis sang, cutting Harry off easily.

  Harry collapsed back in the grass with a defeated sigh, covering his face with his palms. “Shut up,” he groaned, knowing that Louis was right that, whatever his sexuality was, it was a lot more complicated than ‘ _just straight_ ’, but he didn’t want to think about it.

  Harry suddenly felt a hand at his crotch, palming at his dick through his jeans, and his eyes shot open. “What’re you doing?” Harry asked, his voice cracking unsteadily.

  “Just relax,” Louis ordered, voice soft as he ignored Harry’s question.  Harry let his muscles relax a bit, though he kept his eyes open and trained on the smaller boy’s face.  Louis’s expression grew pleased as Harry’s cock hardened under his touch, pressing back against his palm through the fabric of his pants.

  “We’re in the middle of the football pitch.  If anyone was still here, they could come out here and see us,” Harry pointed out, his voice rough as he tried not to lose himself in the moment.  He’d been hard pretty much all day just remembering how he’d fucked Louis senseless the night before, and now that Louis was touching him like this again, it was only too easy for Harry to let himself go.

  “I know where we are,” Louis said easily, licking his lips absently and making Harry’s dick twitch up against his hand.

  “That’s rather bold of you,” Harry breathed, arching a brow skeptically.

  Louis shrugged. “I’m not exactly scared of you.  Even if you were to try and hold this over my head, it’s a bit of a stalemate; it takes two to fuck,” he reminded Harry.

  Harry’s mind clouded over at Louis’s sudden brashness, and he couldn’t remember why this was wrong anymore.  He reached down, fingers clasping around the back of Louis’s neck and pulling his face down to press their lips together.  Harry’s lips were wild, hungry, insistent against Louis’s, all fierce tongue and nipping teeth.  His fingers twisted and knotted in Louis’s feathery locks as his other hand snaked up along Louis’s back, pulling their groins together, and he bucked up into Louis’s hips in one smooth snapping motion.

  Louis gasped against Harry’s lips and his own hips thrashed back in response, seeking more friction.  Harry arched his back and tightened his arm around Louis’s waist, practically crushing their pelvises together.  His thoughts lost coherency as a thick fog of arousal settled over his mind, choking out all other thoughts.

  Harry fumbled with one hand to dig under the waistband of Louis’s football shorts, pulling his cock out eagerly.  He didn’t really know how to jerk another boy off; he tried to think back to some of the porn he’d watched for handjob techniques, but his mind drew a blank.  He tried to remember what he normally did on his own, but his technique was rather sloppy and far too quick.

 Hesitantly, Harry tightened his fingers around the base of Louis’s shaft and gave it one slow and steady pump.  Louis moaned encouragingly into Harry’s mouth, and Harry realized exactly how horny Louis must have been to moan at just one touch.  He let his thumb drift experimentally over the head of his cock, swiping at the pool of precome that had collected there and slicking it across his hand as an (admittedly thin) layer of lubricant.

  Louis’s breath hitched as Harry gave his cock another full and firm stroke, flicking his wrist sharply as he reached the head.  Louis’s whole body dipped down to meet Harry’s hand, making the curly-haired boy swell with pride as he realized the effect he was having on the other lad.

  Harry let his lips leave Louis’, peppering kisses along his stubble-dusted jawline and sucking hickeys across his skin to match the ones on his neck from the night before – just in case anyone had any doubts that Louis was taken.  Harry felt his stomach twinge funnily at that word – _taken_ , of all things; Louis wasn’t taken, especially not by Harry – but he didn’t let himself dwell on the thought as Louis thrusted into his palm.

  “F—faster,” Louis mewled unsteadily, the skin between his brows crinkling as he squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back in satisfaction.  Harry obeyed, increasing his speed and clenching his fingers jut a little bit to vary the pressure.  He swirled his thumb around the tip again, punctuation the motion with a sharp nip to Louis’s smooth collarbone, and the combination had Louis quivering and whimpering.  One of his hands clenched in a fist around the grass, plucking the blades from the ground, while his other closed onto Harry’s arm, the blunt fingernails digging sharply into his porcelain skin.

  Harry couldn’t help but thrust up against Louis’s leg, grinding his painfully hard cock against Louis’s thick thigh through his jeans.  His leg hitched around Louis’s thigh, pulling their hips together, and he could feel his rhythm slipping as his own pleasure overtook him, sharp pants escaping his parted lips.

  Louis was the first to come, the hot sticky seed seeping through Harry’s fingers and leaking across both boys’ clothes.  Harry continued to stroke Louis’s softening cock for a few moments, barely even aware of the thick white liquid coating his palm until Louis reached down to gently grab hold of Harry’s wrist, stopping him from overstimulating his poor worn cock.

  Harry raised his arm, pulling it free of Louis’s grasp and holding his come-drenched hand up to Louis’s mouth.  His breath caught in his throat as Louis’s tongue darted out to lick the seed off his hand instantly, not even questioning it, and Harry had to bite back a moan at the realization of how submissive Louis was even now, when he was _trying_ to be in control.

  Louis licked Harry’s fingers clean, never breaking eye contact the entire time, though his eyes were particularly intense as he swallowed the mouthful of his own come.  Harry couldn’t stifle the groan that bubbled past his lips this time, and Louis beamed with pride before he started to climb down Harry’s body, stopping right over the almost intimidatingly large bulge in his jeans.  His fingers nimbly unfastened his trousers, shimmying them down Harry’s thin waist just enough to free his painfully erect cock, and Harry waited for Louis’s hand to close around his hard-on, but instead he felt hot breath wash over the skin of his dick.

  Soft lips, slick with spit and come, enveloped the very tip of Harry’s cock and the flat of Louis’s tongue dragged slowly and hotly through the slit, licking up the droplets of fluid that had gathered there.  He paused for a moment just to tease Harry before finally pushing his lips further down and enveloping the entire length in the secure hot wetness of his mouth, only struggling a slight bit as it hit the back of his throat.

  Harry tossed his head back, lips parted as he breathed out a raspy, “ _fucker_ ” and this seemed to encourage Louis.  He swallowed around the length, cheeks hollowing out as he bobbed his head back and forth in a steady rhythm, tongue lapping at the thick vein on the underside of Harry’s cock.

  “Shit, Lou…feels so good,” Harry breathed out appreciatively, his fingers finding their way to Louis’s hair and knotting in a handful of the feathery locks, though Louis didn’t need any guidance; if anything, it was just to give Harry something to hold on to.

  Harry’s hips snapped up to meet Louis’s lips, pressing the smaller boy’s nose into the base of his belly where it met his waist, but Louis just fucking _took it_.  He let out a moan as Harry finally gave a sharp tug of his hair, and the vibrations traveled straight through Harry’s dick and pushed him over the edge.  He came across Louis’s face with a breathless chant of “ _fuckfuckfuckyesshit_ ”, and just the sight of Louis staring innocently up at him with Harry’s come painted across his cheeks was hot enough that Harry knew he’d be dreaming about that sight for the next few weeks.

  Both boys lay there for a few moments, Louis remaining silent as Harry tried to catch his breath.  Harry found himself playing fondly with Louis’s hair, twisting the locks lightly around his finger and rubbing soothing circles into his scalp, and Louis was practically purring in appreciation as he nuzzled his face into Harry’s stomach.  In the post-orgasm bliss, Harry couldn’t even remember any of his earlier objections; but the more he started to come down from the natural high, the more he realized that he had indeed fucked up: he’d fooled around with Louis _again_.

  Harry sighed and reached down to do his trousers up, climbing to his feet and trying to wipe the stupid grin off his face. “Well, I’ve, er…gotta run,” he stammered. “This can’t ever happen again, by the way.  _Ever_.”

  Louis blinked up at him, confused as he watched Harry start to walk away from him.  The emerald-eyed boy barely made it three feet before turning and calling back over his shoulder, “And tomorrow, bring lube!”

-

Harry barely slept that night.  All he could do was lie awake and  think about what he’d done and how terribly he’d fucked up the night before.  By the time morning rolled around, he was convinced Louis was doing all this on purpose just to mess with his head or something.  He _wasn’t_ gay; nor was he pan or bi, he was just straight, and that was that.

  It wasn’t that Harry saw anything wrong with being gay – to be quite frank, Harry didn’t give a flying fuck whether someone liked blokes or birds or both, so long as they were a decent person.  It was just that things were so different when it was his own sexuality being called into question. 

  Unfortunately, despite the mental turmoil he was trying to sort through, he still had to drag himself to football practice for six o’clock.  He felt like each of his limbs weighed a hundred pounds, though he wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion or if it was all in his head.

  Disappointment washed through him as he realized that Louis was actually on time for practice for once.  He slouched over a little more, nuzzling his chin against his chest and ducking his head in an attempt to go unnoticed by Louis.

  “’Ey mate, what happened yesterday?  Coach said it looked like you barely even cleaned anything,” Zayn chastised, popping up out of nowhere behind Harry.

  Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden sound of Zayn’s voice. “Oh, erm, yeah.  That was…” He paused, unable to find an excuse.  He had left before he finished last night, and it wasn’t surprising that Louis couldn’t finish every single job on his own after the two had wasted so much time together.

  “That was my fault,” Louis amended, trotting over to Harry’s side. “It took a long time, since Harry had to show me how to do everything and where everything was supposed to go.  You know I’m bloody awful at cleaning.”

  Zayn pursed his lips thoughtfully before nodding, seeming to accept that excuse. “Right, yeah.  Just try and make sure things are spotless tonight, okay Haz?  And I’ve booked the pitch tomorrow at lunch for you two, so you can do some football training together.”

  Harry desperately wanted to kick Zayn in the shin; it was like he was doing this on _purpose_.  He hadn’t thought Zayn was serious when he’d said that Louis would be the one helping him practice.  He didn’t even really want to play football, after all.  He’d just done it to…well, now that he thought about it, he realized he’d only done it to be around Louis more.  _Fucking brilliant idea that was_ , Harry thought sarcastically to himself.

  As soon as Zayn walked away Louis turned to Harry, an adorably sheepish (yet still somewhat coy) look on his face.  He opened his mouth to say something, but Harry quickly turned to follow after Zayn without so much as making eye contact with the smaller boy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes clubbing with Zayn to try and get his mind off of things. And by 'things', he means Louis.

“All right, lads, good practice.  Drink lots of water and grab a protein bar from my office on the way out.  Don’t forget, tonight is the last practice of the week so I expect you all to be kicking your own asses to finish strong,” the coach huffed, dismissing the sweaty and aching boys from the pitch.  The only one who didn’t look an utter mess was Zayn; Harry didn’t know how he could work harder than any of the other boys on the team but still look perfectly groomed.

Harry grabbed the cooler from under the bench and passed out a bottle of sports drink to each boy as they walked by, cringing as he realized that Louis was deliberately putting himself at the back of the line so he could talk to him privately.  As soon as he noticed this, Harry was making sure to take his sweet time handing out the sports drinks; pausing to talk to some of the players, purposely dropping a bottle or two – anything he could do to stall the inevitable.

By the time all the other boys had finally gone through the queue, Louis seemed to have clued in that something was amiss.  He wore a shaky smile, like he was trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed Harry’s odd behavior, though Harry saw right through it.  He felt a pang of guilt for hurting Louis, and the emotion coupled with his stifled feelings for the boy scared him.

“Smooth move, dropping the bottles,” Louis said with a forced chuckle.

Harry sighed and grabbed the last bottle from the cooler, holding it out wordlessly.

Louis cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m sure they were just slippery.” The already-uncertain look on his face faltered, but he tried to push through it. “I hope you’re better with your feet, though; otherwise, helping you with your football technique is going to be a right pain in the ass.”

Harry sighed impatiently, pushing the bottle closer to Louis.

“Speaking of pains in the ass,” Louis began, and for a second Harry almost thought Louis was fighting back tears, though he didn’t let himself think about that. “I’ve got the, er, stuff you told me to bring.  The lube,” he added lowly, eyes scanning the pitch to make sure nobody was within earshot.

Harry grimaced; why couldn’t Louis just make this easy?  Why did he have to choose  _now_  to come out of his stupid shell?  He slammed the sports drink against Louis’s chest with an exasperated sigh before turning his back to Louis, gathering up the towels and the bag ball.

“Look, I – I’m sorry if I upset you,” Louis stammered, voice small.  He waited for Harry to say something –  _anything_  – but he didn’t so much as turn to look in Louis’s direction. “Why are you so pissed off right now?”

“You want to know why I’m pissed off?   _Because you won’t leave me the fuck alone_ ,” Harry yelled, whirling around to glare at Louis.

Louis flinched away, his eyes widening as Harry’s words sank in.  His shoulders hunched over and his eyes flickered down to his feet, and Harry was suddenly reminded of the first time he’d ever seen Louis, when he looked like he was constantly just trying to crawl up into himself and disappear. “Oh…er, I’ll…sorry, then.” Louis mumbled, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and turning to trudge off the pitch.

Harry pretended he didn’t see the way Louis’s lower lip was quivering dangerously before he walked away.  He pretended he didn’t see the way Louis’s face had fallen, sinking in as sadness etched itself all over his face.  He pretended he didn’t notice the way Louis’s shoulders looked suspiciously shaky, as if he were biting back sobs.

But most importantly, Harry pretended he didn’t feel a sharp pang of guilt and hatred for himself after what he’d done.  It didn’t matter even if he did, because he had done what he needed to do.  Louis wasn’t his fucking problem anymore.

 

 -

 

Harry had never been more grateful for rain in his life.

It was coming down in buckets, turning the football pitch into one giant muddy slip-n’-slide.  The coach had no choice but to cancel practice, though he certainly didn’t sound pleased when he made the announcement.

Harry, however, was ecstatic.  As soon as he heard the news he was texting Zayn, trying to convince him to do something –  _anything_  – tonight, something to get Harry’s mind off of everything.  Zayn was only too happy to oblige, and within two hours he had managed to find two fake ID’s – one for Harry and one for himself.  They weren’t exactly the best quality, but they’d be good enough to get into any seedy nightclub they wanted.  The promise of alcohol sounded satisfying enough to Harry, and he decided it wouldn’t hurt if he tried to pick up a drunk girl or two.  After all, what better way to reassure himself that he wasn’t gay than fucking the daylights out of some random girl he didn’t know?

 

-

 

Harry’s fingers clumsily scrabbled for the bottle, pulling it up to his lips as he chugged down an obscene gulp.  He didn’t usually drink like this, but it felt so good to be able to think about nothing but the music shaking through his body and the hot bodies pressed up against his own as the crowd swallowed him up.  He swirled the bottle a bit, watching as the electric blue liquid swished around the sides before deciding to just finish the bottle in one go.  Zayn had left him twenty minutes after they arrived to go flirt with a group of girls who were all fawning over him, and Harry hadn’t seen him since.  He had just decided to stay in the crowd, drinking and dancing by himself for the rest of the night, when he felt someone tap his shoulder.

“Someone’s thirsty,” a girlish voice cooed in Harry’s ear, the sound high and distinct against the low bass of the music.

Harry turned to see a tall chesty blonde grinning at him as his eyes locked on hers. “Alcohol’s good,” Harry slurred stupidly, holding up his bottle as if to prove his point.

The girl only laughed, and Harry wondered why; he hadn’t said anything funny. “I think I know something even better,” she said, pressing her body up against Harry’s and cocking an eyebrow suggestively as she let her hips rock against his to the beat.

Harry tried to move in time with her, but it felt wrong.  His actions were clumsy, motor skills horrendously impaired from the alcohol, and there was something about her that just wasn’t quite right.  He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was just  _off_.  But, she was here and willing, and Harry was drunk and in need of a distraction from Louis, so he decided that she would do.

Her hands trailed down Harry’s chest, locking on his belt loops and gently pulling him closer to her body.  She stretched up on the tips of her toes, lips dangerously close to Harry’s, and grinned. “What’s your name?”

“’M Harry,” he mumbled. “What’s yours?”

“Does it really matter?” she asked coyly, and before Harry knew what was happening her lips were on his.

As soon as their mouths connected, everything snapped into place for Harry.  He knew exactly why this felt so off; every part of her body was just  _wrong_.  Her body was all curves where it should have been lines, all breasts where it should have been flat, all smooth dewy skin where it should have been stubble.  The more Harry tried to forced himself to ignore it, the more flaws he found.  Her hair was too long, she smelled too sweet, her skin was too soft – she was just too  _feminine_.

Harry pulled back immediately with a grimace, stumbling back. “No, no, no.  You’re all wrong!” He accused drunkenly, scowling at her.

“What the fuck?” she hissed, glaring expectantly at Harry as she waited for an answer.

All Harry could do was repeat, “Wrong, wrong, wrong,” before turning and pushing his way through the crowd and leaving the girl, bewildered and alone in the middle of the dance floor.

Harry’s sluggish mind tried desperately to think through the cloud of inebriation, attempting hopelessly to piece everything together.  So, if she wasn’t right because she was too feminine, what did that mean?  Was Harry just not into the girlie-type?  He started to scope out the room, looking for any girl who drew his attention immediately, but he found none.  Instead, he managed to lock eyes with a rather attractive man sitting across the dance floor.  As soon as their eyes met, the man grinned and gave a cheeky wink.

Some part of Harry’s brain seemed to think it was a good idea for him to stumble across the dance floor, wriggling between the sweaty writhing crowd while trying to look somewhat alluring.

Harry didn’t know how to hint that he just wants a one-night stand with this man, no flirting or conversation. He leaned down, his lips hovering over the man’s ear, and he murmured, “I want you to fuck me.”  Sure, it wasn’t the most eloquent thing he’d ever said – and it probably wasn’t one of his best decisions, either – but it seemed to get the point across.

“You’re quite the poet, you are.” The man smirked, but he stood up and snaked his hand across Harry’s wrist, pulling him across the dance floor, through the back halls and into the toilet, locking the door behind him.

Harry whimpered as the man crushed their mouths together, a mess of sloppy alcohol-pickled tongues and awkwardly clashing teeth, but they were both too buzzed to care.

It didn’t take long for Harry to decide that he liked this kiss much better.  His face was all sharp angles and stubble and it felt more natural to him, but there was a persistent thought in the back of his head telling him that this would be so much better if it were Louis.

“I’m Nick.” The man mumbled into Harry’s mouth.

  Harry’s lips couldn’t seem to form his name with Nick’s tongue between them, so he just let out an acknowledging, “Mhm.”

Nick pushed Harry forward with his chest, backing him against the bathroom wall and pinning him there with his torso. “I saw you grinding up that blonde on the dance floor,” he breathed.

Harry felt like Nick was trying to push for some answer to Harry’s sexuality, but he didn’t exactly feel like explaining. “This is an experiment,” he slurred.  He wasn’t sure if his words were so blurred from the alcohol or because his lips have gone swollen from the rough kisses, but he was starting to lose track of what he was saying, what he was doing.  His mind and his body were separating as he grabbed Nick’s hair and pulled his face up, angling his neck so he could suck a lovebite into the skin.

Nick groaned, a low rumble deep in his chest, and Harry winced.  It wasn’t the right sound, wasn’t the right high pitched soft little moan that he had grown used to.

“So you’re still in that phase, hmm?” Nick breathed, twisting out of Harry’s grip.  Harry frowned, realizing that Nick wasn’t quite as submissive as Louis.

“What  _phase_?” Harry questioned as Nick started to fiddle with his belt buckle. “This is just an experiment.  Nothing else.”

Nick shook his head, pressing another feverish kiss to Harry’s lips. “You talk too much,” He grumbled, nipping at Harry’s lower lip.  His tongue swept over the marks left by his teeth, and the feeling should have been pleasurable enough to make Harry groan, but the only thought going through his head was a steady chant of  _LouisLouisLouisLouis_ , like his own haunting mantra reminding him of everything that he had been trying to escape.

Harry pushed Nick away suddenly, shaking his head frantically.  His eyes were still glazed over from the alcohol, but there was a certain look of terror in them, like he was just now realizing everything that was wrong with this plan. “No…no, you’re wrong too…you’re not Louis.” He whispered, too drunk and confused to try and keep these thoughts in his head.

“What…Louis?” Nick repeated incredulously, torn between sexual frustration, confusion, and irritation.

Harry wished he could explain because he really did feel bad for leading Nick on like this, but all he could do was turn and dip his head over the toilet before vomiting.


	7. Chapter 7

The first sound that greeted Harry in the morning was the loud blaring of a bullhorn.

Harry shot up, hands instantly flying to clutch his head. “What the fuck?” He groaned, his head pounding as he searched for the source of the noise.  His eyes fell on his phone, the screen lit up as it buzzed on his nightstand.  He swiped it up, answered the call, and pressed it to his ear.

“’Lo?” he grunted into the speaker.

“ _Good morning, Sunshine_!” Zayn screamed, practically cutting Harry off.

“Fuck!” Harry accidentally dropped the phone in his shock, and he had to scramble through the sheets to find it. “What’s your problem?” he hissed as soon as he had the phone safely in his hands.

“Did you like your new ringtone?  I picked it out especially for you last night, right after you puked on my shoes in the back of the cab,” Zayn said, both smug and resentful.

Harry winced, memories flooding back in a way that only intensified his headache. “Shit…what all happened last night?”

Zayn shrugged. “I went in for a wee and saw you curled up next to a toilet with some random bloke.  He said…” Zayn paused.

Harry’s throat tightened;  _Nick_. “Erm, what did he say?”

Zayn cleared his throat, pausing for a minute. “Well…” he began, and that was enough to tell Harry that Zayn knew  _everything_.

“Shit.” Harry pulled his pillow over his face in defeat, wondering if it was too late for him to change his name and move to Siberia.

Zayn pressed on, pretending not to notice Harry’s resignation. “He just said that the two of you were snogging, and then you started puking.”

If Harry hadn’t been so embarrassed, he might have taken a minute to laugh at how ridiculous the situation sounded when Zayn put it like that. “Did…did he say anything else?” Harry could specifically remember the phrase: ‘ _Not Louis, not Louis, not Louis_ ’ and he wasn’t sure if he’d actually said it or if it had just been a thought stuck on replay.

Zayn sighed. “Look, Harry, whatever happened last night, it’s none of my business,” he said awkwardly, avoiding the question.

Harry wondered exactly how much Zayn knew, but he could already tell that he wouldn’t be able to force an answer out of him without telling him everything that had happened, so he decided it was better just to leave it. “Yeah, well thanks for the lovely wakeup call.” He said, trying to steer the conversation to less dangerous territory.

Zayn cackled darkly, evidently quite pleased with himself as he was reminded of his ingenious plan. “See you at school,” he said before hanging up.

Harry winced; he’d somehow forgotten that he still had to deal with an entire day of school on top of his nasty hangover and the foggy memories of the previous night’s events.  He pulled the covers over his head, wondering if he could just convince his mum to call him in sick, but his pondering was interrupted by an annoying blaring sound that reminded him of the biohazard alarm in films.

His hand flailed out for the phone, and he grimaced as he read the alarm alert that popped up: ‘ _THEY WERE MY BEST SHOES X_ ’.  Harry scowled at the screen before stumbling down the hall to the bathroom and gulping down some paracetamol, trying to ignore the way the tablets stuck to his cotton-dry throat.  He caught sight of himself in the mirror – a mess of disheveled curls and pale skin and dark bags round his eyes – and he decided he looked quite reminiscent of a zombie.  Oh, _excellent_.

-

It wasn’t until right before lunch that Harry remembered he was supposed to meet Louis for football practice that day.  He spent the rest of his class wondering if he could just not show up – it’s not like Zayn could be  _that_  angry, considering he knew of Harry’s terrible hangover – but as soon as Harry remembered that he was still on thin ice with Zayn after everything that had happened between him and the coach, he knew he had to go.  Harry’s only hope was that Louis would be the one to skip the practice.

His hopes were smashed as soon as he set foot on the pitch and saw Louis messing around with a football, practicing a few stunts.  Harry didn’t want to admit it, but some of the tricks he was doing were quite impressive – things Harry had only ever seen professional footballers do to show off before matches.

He scooped a football off the ground, hurling it at the back of Louis’s head. “Oi, today would be nice.”

Louis turned and scowled down at the ball that had hit him. “Right.  Just dribble the ball between those pylons, around the end, and back again.  5 times.”

Harry grimaced, reluctantly kicking at the nearest football and heading for the pylons.  He wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing – it was too lazy to be a jog, but just a little too fast to be a proper walk – but he wasn’t really too concerned.  He had shown up, and he was actually doing what Louis told him.  That had to be enough to satisfy Zayn.

There was a flash of caramel brown hair in front of him, and by the time Harry looked down and realized that the ball was no longer bouncing off his cleat, Louis was already halfway across the pitch, smirking at Harry as he dribbled the ball backwards across the grass.

“What the fuck was that?”

“’S called ‘stealing the ball’.  Common football technique,” Louis drawled sarcastically, flicking his hair and stopping the ball easily with his heel.  He crossed his arms expectantly and raised an eyebrow. “Well?  Aren’t you going to come and get it back?”

Harry rolled his eyes and started to trudge across the pitch towards Louis.

Louis scoffed. “Today would be nice,” he quoted mockingly.

Harry bit back a grimace, reluctantly speeding up to a sluggish trot.  He was about ten feet from Louis when the smaller boy suddenly spun around and darted off in the opposite direction, expertly knocking the ball along with the inside of his foot.

Louis cast a glance over his shoulder, smirking when he saw that Harry still hadn’t moved. “Try and keep up, yeah?”

Harry grimaced and briefly considered kicking the smug look right off of Louis’s face, but he decided against it as he took off down the pitch.  He  _knew_  Louis was goading him on, trying to mock him into actually trying, but he still felt the need to prove him wrong.  He sprinted towards him, wondering whether he should be trying to kick the ball or Louis’s shin (to be honest, he wasn’t sure his aim was good enough that he could consciously choose what he was going to actually kick).

The look on Louis’s face shifted noticeably; Harry recognized it as the same look Louis always got whenever he was playing football, like nothing else in the world existed anymore.  It was a strange mix of bliss and determination, which Harry hadn’t thought was really possible, but he could think of no other way to describe the glint in Louis’s eyes.

Louis easily evaded Harry’s strike, leaving Harry’s foot swinging into the thin air where the ball had been mere seconds ago.  Harry stopped and turned to glare at Louis, who was stopped a few dozen feet away from Harry with the ball tucked under his foot and a pleased grin on his face.

“Having some trouble?” Louis taunted, kicking the ball in Harry’s direction.

Harry scooped it up into his arms, tossing it up in the air and catching it a few times as he wondered if he should throw it at Louis one more time.  He’d probably just start kicking it around and making Harry try to catch it again, he realized, so he decided against it.

“Can’t we just leave early and not tell Zayn?” Harry grumbled, absently rolling the ball between his hands.

Louis rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell you what; if you can get the ball past me and into the net, I’ll let you leave early,” he offered, stance shifting just slightly as he prepared to defend the goal.

Harry paused, a thoughtful look on his face, before he suddenly tucked the ball into his chest and crossed his arms over it, running down the pitch with his figure hunched protectively over the ball.  Louis straightened up with a stunned look on his face, not realizing what Harry was doing until he was about to pass him.

“You filthy little cheat!” Louis cried out, but Harry could have  _sworn_  he heard him laugh as he chased after the taller boy.

“You didn’t say I had to use my feet!” Harry pointed out.  It was strange; he really _wanted_ to hate Louis, and he was fairly certain that he  _did_ , and yet he still loved to make him smile, wanted nothing more than to make him laugh. 

Louis launched himself at Harry, arms locking around his neck and his legs winding around his waist as his hands clawed under Harry’s arms, fumbling for the ball.  Harry wasn’t expecting the sudden weight (though Louis was quite light), and he went down face-first, the ball shooting out from under him and rolling a few feet away.  He rolled onto his back, pinning Louis underneath him.

“Eugh, your hair’s in my mouth!” Louis coughed, and Harry couldn’t tell if he sounded annoyed or playful.

 _Okay, maybe you can just be friends.  Maybe you can do this; he can help coach you, and you can learn to get along with him.  No harm in that, right?_   Harry thought to himself as he rolled over and offered his hand out to help Louis up.

Louis took Harry’s hand thankfully, reaching his other hand down to pull down the hem of his shirt as it had slid up his torso to reveal his stomach, but Harry grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“Are those bruises?” Harry asked, voice cold.  His eyes locked on the dark purple marks ghosting across his hips, fading out to a greenish yellow tint around the edges.

Louis yanked his arm free of Harry’s grip, pulling his shirt back down to hide the bruises. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said lamely.

“You fucking little  _slut_.” Harry spat, though a niggling voice in the back of his head reminded him that he’d been ready to shag 2 different people at some seedy club last night. “Is this it, then?  You fuck a bunch of random guys, act like you’re so innocent and play the victim, and just screw with their heads?  You’re so pathetic.  I can’t believe I actually…” Harry stopped.  He didn’t know what he was about to say, but he knew it was something he didn’t want to admit, so instead he decided to simply end with, “Fuck you.”

With that, Harry turned and walked off the pitch.  He didn’t care if he owed it to Zayn to stick around; it wasn’t worth putting up with this bullshit anymore.

 

-

 

When Harry’s phone rang after school and Zayn’s name flashed up on the caller ID, Harry was fairly certain he was screwed.  Walking out on Louis had seemed like a good idea – and he still didn’t regret it, to be quite honest – but now Harry was losing his confidence at the thought of confronting Zayn.  He was no doubt only calling to yell at Harry, and maybe even to dole out another punishment.

“Hello?” Harry greeted weakly.

“Harry!” Zayn piped, and Harry’s brows instantly drew together out of confusion. “Listen, Horan’s throwing a party tonight for the team round his.  Nothing big; just the team, plus a few girls to make things interesting.  Are you in?”

Harry paused for a few moments, thinking things through.  His head was still pounding and he was just barely getting over being unjustifiably drunk the night before. “Er, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Oh, c’mon.  Is this because Louis will be there?” Zayn sighed, sounding exasperated. “Look, you two made it through your practice today, just the two of you, yeah?  Surely that means you can deal with being at a party for a few hours if you don’t even have to talk to each other.”

Harry made a face.  So Louis  _hadn’t_  told Zayn that Harry had walked out on today’s practice.   He wondered why – surely Louis would have loved nothing more than to screw Harry over even more.  But Zayn’s comment had raised another concern.  Harry knew that he couldn’t go to a party and not drink – it was a bit of a bad habit of his – but the last time he’d gotten drunk, he’d accused everyone of being ‘not Louis’.  He cringed to think about what would happen if he got drunk with Louis in the same building.

“I can’t, I’ve got…um, calculus homework.”

Zayn scoffed. “It’s Friday!  You’ve got all weekend.  Besides, since when do you actually do your homework?”

Harry sighed, unable to think of any other excuse. “Fine, yeah…but you’re paying for the cab home.”

Zayn seemed rather pleased with himself for the rest of the conversation, telling Harry where the party was and what time it started (as well as what time was actually acceptable to show up).  Harry was only half-listening, mind already running through all the possible worst-case scenarios that he could come up with.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party takes a turn for the worse when Harry sees a familiar face over the punch bowl.

Despite what Harry had thought, he found it surprisingly difficult to get drunk.  All he could think about was how the blaring music was making his head feel like it was about to explode, and how the sharp alcohol burned his dry and aching throat.  He was barely halfway through one cup of his drink, and he was even regretting consuming  _that_.

Not to mention the fact that Louis was nowhere to be seen.  It was strange how Harry could hate Louis and not want to be anywhere  _near_  him, and yet all he could seem to do at this party was stand on the sidelines and search for him.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to find him or not; all he knew was that it was quite infuriating that he’d spent over an hour looking for the small boy amidst the crowd of drunk teenagers, and he hadn’t seen anyone who looked even remotely like him.  Apparently word had spread about the party, and the house was now flooded with people – Harry wasn’t even sure some of them went to their school.

“Oi, mate!  That girl in the corner’s been making eyes at you all night,” a very-drunk Niall Horan yelled over the music, nudging against Harry’s side.  Actually, it was less of a nudge and more of a slouching lean as he used the lanky boy for support to keep himself from falling over.

Harry didn’t follow Niall’s gaze. “Nah, thanks.  I’m fine here.  She’s not my type,” he said, trying to give an appreciative grin.  As much as he hated his current predicament, he knew there was nothing worse than being the buzz-kill at this kind of party.  He already stuck out enough being the water boy, after all.

“Yeah, none of the  _girls_  here are his type,” Zayn slurred, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to rest his chin on Harry’s shoulder and give him a comforting pat on the back.

Harry had to bite back a cringe.  He knew that, in Zayn’s drunken state, the boy probably thought he was helping him out, but it was just a painful reminder that Zayn knew how Harry had been just about to fuck another boy in a seedy club bathroom just the night before.  Besides, when Zayn was this drunk, Harry couldn’t help but worry about his secret getting out.

“What d’you mean by that?” Niall pouted, brows drawing together in confusion.

“He’s just…focusing on his schoolwork,” Zayn mumbled.

Harry grimaced and gave Zayn a pointed look.  Was  _that_  the best excuse he could come up with?

Niall bought it, too buzzed to care, and nodded. “Y’ve gotta lighten up a bit, Styles.  S’not good to waste your prime days on things like school.  Go get another drink!” Niall gave Harry a particularly forceful shove towards the kitchen, where the drink table had been set up.

Harry stopped in front of the punch bowl, watching the red surface shake and vibrate in time with the heavy electronic music that poured from the speakers.  He spotted the empty vodka bottle sitting conspicuously close to the punch bowl, and any interest he’d had in the punch was lost.  He turned away, only to run into someone behind him.

“Shit, sorry,” Harry said, realizing that the boy had been holding a cup of punch – the contents of which had now left a wet red stain across the front of his white shirt.

“S’fine,” the boy mumbled, batting Harry away with a limp hand.

  Harry internalized a groan as he recognized the boy as Louis. “Did you follow me in here or something?” he snapped, pushing Louis back.

The smaller boy drunkenly stumbled back into the counter, wincing as his back smacked against the corner of the hard marble. “’M just here for another drink,” he muttered, trying to straighten his back as he clumsily headed towards the drink table.

“What, are you going to get drunk and fuck yet another random bloke?”

“No, just…just want another drink.” Louis reached out, curling and uncurling his fingers out repeatedly as he tried to grab on to one of the many bottles laid out on the table.

Harry sighed, watching as Louis finally scooped up his drink of choice, moving on to struggle with the lid.  He reluctantly reached out and snatched the drink from Louis’s small hands, setting it back down on the table. “No, you’re already piss-drunk.  If you drink anything else, you’ll need to get your stomach pumped.”

Louis whined. “So?  I’m just ‘some slut’, what do you care if I die of alcohol poisoning?” he said, trying to sound angry, but his words all seemed to blur together in a drowsy mess.

“Would you just _shut up_?”

Louis scowled up at Harry, reaching out to lean against the counter and keep himself from falling over.  He pointed a shaking index finger accusingly in Harry’s direction. “I was just  _fine_  before you showed up and ruined everything.  Do you know how much shit I had to deal with because of you?” Louis jabbed his finger repeatedly against Harry’s chest.  Harry watched, stunned into silence as Louis’s face crumpled, like he was holding back tears.

“Er…you should probably get home,” Harry suggested, taking Louis’s wrist lightly and pulling it back to his side so his finger was no longer digging into his ribcage.

“Rather not, thanks.” Louis muttered, pushing past Harry.  Harry wasn’t sure if Louis had intentionally shoved him out of the way or if he had just stumbled into him.  Either way, he’d only made it five steps before he tripped over his own feet, barely managing to stop himself from falling to the floor.

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re going home,  _now_ ,” he insisted, and it wasn’t until he felt himself pulling Louis in to his side that he realized his arm had wound supportively around Louis’s waist.

Louis winced and tried to pull away. “Don’t wanna.”

“Too bad.” Harry pulled him into the main entrance where the majority of the crowd was still dancing, stopping in front of the door. “Go call a cab to pick you up.”

“Got no money.” Louis shrugged, turning and trying to push his way back into the kitchen, continuing his mission to attain another drink.

 How’d you get here?” Harry grabbed Louis’s small shoulders and gently pulled him back, pressing him against the wall to hold him in place.

“Walked,” Louis explained, pouting and sulking as he tried half-heartedly to wriggle out of Harry’s grasp.

Harry made a face.  As much as he hated Louis, he wasn’t sure that it was such a good idea to let the boy walk home alone at this hour on a Friday night when he was so drunk. “Fine, come with me,” he muttered after a moment of deliberation, pulling Louis behind him as he searched for Zayn in the crowd.

“Oh!  Are you two getting on now?  Did you kiss and make up?” Zayn yelled, his eyes glassy and his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the clumsy drunken dancing.  His eyes widened a bit as he realized what he’d just said, and he laughed airily at his own little ‘ _inside joke_ ’ with Harry.

Harry didn’t find it quite as funny, and he was extremely glad that Louis was too drunk to fully understand the implications behind what Zayn had just said.  He opted to ignore Zayn’s little pun, because at the moment his main priority was just to get Louis home. “Look, can you find someone to walk Louis home?”

“’M fine!” Louis hissed, swatting Harry away and nearly knocking over a large bowl of cheese puffs in the process.

Zayn’s eyes focused in on the punch stain running down Louis’s shirt, and that seemed to snap him back into it a little bit. “Everyone here’s just as drunk as he is.  It’d be best if you walked him home, yeah?”

“But…” Harry sighed, trying to find any alternative option.

“S’not that far.  Just walk him there and back, then you ‘n me can take a cab back to yours,” Zayn assured him, giving him a patronizing pat on the back.  Harry shot him a withering look, and Zayn heaved a great sigh. “Please, mate?  Look at the poor bloke.”

Louis frowned petulantly and crossed his arms with a great  _harrumph_ , reminding Harry of a frustrated toddler. “I don’t need someone to walk me home.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, fine.  But you owe me,” he grumbled to Zayn, securing his arm around Louis’s torso and practically heaving the boy through the house and out the door.

“You can let go of me now.  ‘M fine,” Louis snapped as soon as they were on the pavement.

“No, I promised Zayn I’d walk you home.  Now shut up and tell me where you live.”

“No,” Louis sniffled indignantly.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m not leaving you alone until you’re home safely, so it looks like we’re in for a long night, hey?”

Louis crossed his arms for a few moments and glared up at Harry, as if testing him.  Harry pressed his lips into a tight line in response and met Louis’s eyes.  He  _wasn’t_  caving.

“Fine,” Louis finally muttered, going slack and letting himself slouch into Harry’s side, trying to walk without tripping over his own feet. “I live at 625 Chelsea Street, about five minutes from here.”

Harry nodded and pulled Louis along.  He tightened his grip on Louis’s waist, only to hear the smaller boy wince.  He flinched out of Harry’s arm, hand flying to cover his waist.

“Sorry, I forgot about your bruises,” Harry muttered dryly, grabbing Louis again but ensuring his hand was up higher, around Louis’s ribs.

“Stoppit!” Louis whimpered, flinching yet again as Harry went to grip his torso.

  Harry grimaced. “What, more bruises?  You should tell people to be a little more fucking gentle with you,” he grumbled, torn between sarcasm and concern.

Louis suddenly lost all signs of annoyance, reverting instead to ducking his head against his chest and tensing his shoulders like he was trying to tuck himself into a ball and disappear. “I’ll pass along the message.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “C’mon, you can’t even get pissed off at me for that.  S’not my fault you sleep with boys who’re probably twice your size and throw you around.”

Louis wrenched himself out from Harry’s arm and tried to stumble forward, but the toe of his shoe caught on a crack in the pavement, sending him sprawling face-first onto the road.  He whimpered as he smacked off the hard surface, pulling his leg into his chest and sniffling.

“ _Shit_ , Louis!  Are…are you okay?” Harry choked, instantly crouching down and trying to pull Louis into a sitting position. “What’s wrong?  What hurts?” Words were spilling from his mouth now as he tried desperately to figure out what it was that had Louis in such pain he couldn’t even keep his eyes open.

“Nothing…just, my ankle…”

Harry knelt down in front of the injured lad and pulled his arms around his shoulders, securing him in a piggy-back position before standing up. “Okay, I’ll get you home and then your parents can take you to A&E.”

Louis suddenly started to squirm wildly as he tried to get off Harry’s back. “No!  No, I’m fine!  I don’t need to go to the hospital.  I just…just need to walk it off.” He protested, trying – and failing – to disguise the pain in his voice.

Harry sighed. “Just stay still, okay?  It’s not going to help anything if you fall off my back and hit the pavement again,” he said, but his tone was gentle.

Louis seemed slightly mollified as he tightened his arms around Harry’s shoulders, but he was still holding his leg at an awkward angle around Harry’s waist.  Harry frowned, trying to subtly inspect it out of the corner of his eye, only to realize that he  _wasn’t_  holding his leg at an awkward angle; his foot was just sickeningly and unnaturally twisted away from the rest of his leg.  Harry felt his own ankle throb in sympathy, and he tore his eyes away from Louis’s leg to try and focus on the road.

After a few minutes, Harry felt warm breath washing gently over his neck, followed by the weight of Louis’s head as it nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder and the sound of soft snores.

Harry tried to ignore it, squashing down the feeling of warm affection that was starting to bubble up from the pit of his stomach.  He didn’t want anything to do with Louis, he reminded himself.  Louis got to him, got inside his head and messed with him; it wasn’t healthy.  Especially not when Louis turned around and slept with every other boy he could wrap around his tiny little finger.

A wave of relief washed over him when he realized that he had arrived at Louis’s house.  He climbed up the walkway and jammed his finger against the doorbell, deciding against waking Louis to ask for a key.  It was probably best that he stay asleep for the time being; if the alcohol-induced slumber could give him an escape from the pain of his badly broken ankle, it was probably for the best.

“Louis?  Wha’ th’ fuck ‘re you doin’?” a drunken voice slurred angrily as the door whooshed open, revealing a middle-aged man with a beer bottle clutched in his hand.

“He’s hurt his ankle pretty badly.  I can carry him to your car if you want to take him to the hospital.  Or call a cab, and wait here until it arrives.” Harry wondered if there was anyone else in the house – preferably someone  _sober_ , who could actually handle Louis.

“Nah, he’s fine.  Tough lad, he is,” the man grunted.  He reached forward and shoved Louis’s shoulder roughly. “Wake up!”

Louis whimpered in his sleep, tightening his grip on Harry and nuzzling his face into Harry’s back.

“I  _said_ , wake up!” The man reached forward, fumbling for Louis’s ankle as if he were about to yank it.

Harry leapt back. “Wait!  That’s his broken ankle!” he choked out, stunned.

“Well, how else ‘m I s’posed to wake ‘im up?” the man demanded impatiently.

“I’ll carry him up to his room, then.” Harry said, growing more concerned for Louis than he would have liked to admit.

“Fine.  Get ‘im out o’ tha’ shirt, though,” the man muttered, seeing the drying punch stain on Louis’s white shirt.

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir.” He ducked into the house, carrying Louis up the stairs.  He peeked through each door, trying to decide which room was Louis’s, though that hardly proved to be a difficult challenge; the first room he looked into was a bathroom, and the second room was covered in posters of football players and a few photos of Louis with an older woman – Harry guessed it was his mum.

Harry sighed and flicked on the light, closing the door behind him.  Perhaps it was a little strange to be alone with Louis in his bedroom with the door shut while was unconscious, but something about the man downstairs just unnerved him.

He set Louis down on the bed and turned to rummage through his drawer until he found clothes that looked sufficiently worn-out and soft to be pajamas, and turned back to Louis’s still-sleeping figure, curled up on the bed.  Harry gingerly undid the buttons of Louis’s shirt, grimacing as the sticky red punch leaked out of the fabric and onto his fingers.

Just as Harry pulled the shirt off Louis’s torso, he saw a horrific pattern of bruises dancing all across Louis’s skin.  Dark bluish marks in the shape of handprints were scattered all across his body – up his ribs, his shoulder blades, his back, moving down to his hips.  The marks looked like more than just bruises left from hard fucking.

“Shit, Lou…” Harry whispered, though he knew Louis was still well knocked out. “What happened to you?” He knew the answer to this question as soon as he’d asked it, remembering the way the man downstairs had been just about to grab Louis’s broken ankle as a way to  _wake him up_.

Harry shuddered, trying not to think about it as he reached for the pajama shirt he’d selected.   _Not my problem, not my problem_ , he chanted to himself, trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He pulled the soft cotton over Louis’s head before moving down to pull on Louis’s jeans.  It felt awkward, but he felt bad enough that Louis was going to have to wake up to a nasty hangover and a broken ankle; sleeping in ridiculously tight jeans that he’d have to shimmy out of himself would just make for an even more uncomfortable morning.

He slid the jeans down Louis’s legs, wincing as he saw the way the bruises continued down his hips.  He took extra care as he pulled the jeans off past his ankles and pulled the soft flannel of the pajamas up his legs.

Harry was just starting to get Louis settled under the covers when he heard him stir.

“Harry?” Louis slurred out, sounding even  _more_  drunk now that he was half-asleep.

  “Yeah, it’s me.  Just…just go to sleep,” harry murmured, pulling the covers up to Louis’s chin, tucking them in around his body and smoothing them out.

“Fuck you,” Louis whined abruptly.

Harry blinked, crinkling his nose. “ _What_?” he demanded, too stunned to be fully offended.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?  You came on to me that day after school –  _you_  fucked  _me_ behind the tree, it was  _you_!  And then you talk to me, and you make me feel like I actually fucking matter, like maybe I’m worth something.  And then you – you call me a slut and treat me like shit and make me feel like dirt,” Louis said, trying to put some venom behind his voice, but he was far too drowsy to master it.  Nevertheless, the words stung on their own.

“I…” Harry paused, unsure what the hell to say in this situation. “I’m sorry.” He choked out.

“You know what’s worse?” Louis whispered, voice suddenly small.  Harry finally forced himself to met his gaze, and the glassy wet look in Louis’s eyes was enough to make him feel like an even bigger asshole. “I still want to make you like me.  Even after all this…this…this  _shit_  you’ve put me through, I still want you to take me back.  How pathetic does that make me?”

Harry frowned. “No, Lou.  It’s me,” he said quietly.

Louis paused a moment, thinking it over. “Yeah.  Yeah, it is you.  All your fault,” he decided, and he almost looked pleased with himself for managing to shift the blame before his eyelids fluttered shut. “Goodnight,” he slurred out, nuzzling his head against the pillow.

Harry let out an incredulous half-laugh at how violent Louis’s mood swings were when he was drunk. “G’night,” he repeated weakly, reaching forward to brush the fringe out of Louis’s eyes before he realized what he was doing, and abruptly pulling his hand back.

He turned away from Louis’s bed, shuffling out into the hallway and making sure the door was shut tight behind him.  He knew it wouldn’t do anything to protect Louis from everything that Harry had discovered tonight, but for some reason it felt like a start.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry takes matters into his own hands and tries to figure out how to help Louis (purely as a friend, of course).

Harry spent the majority of his weekend holed up in his room, torn between hating himself and hating the world.  There was some deranged part of his brain that kept telling him to stop by Louis’s house, check up on him, ask if he was okay – or at the very least look him up in the phone book and call – and so Harry tried his very hardest to ignore that voice.  It wasn’t a particularly easy feat, but Harry knew better than to spring into action just yet.  He needed a plan, but there wasn’t exactly a guidebook on what to do if a boy you shagged and might either hate or fancy is living in an abusive home.

After extensive Googling on the matter, though, Harry decided that the best option he’d read thus far was telling a responsible adult.  As much as Harry cringed at the thought of still needing an adult to solve his problems, he knew he was in over his head here.  After all, there was only so much he could do at his age, and an adult would hold a lot more credibility than he would.

Besides, if he told someone else and let them deal with it, then he could go back to avoiding Louis as much as possible, keeping a safe distance.  Hearing Louis’s drunken speech on how Harry had made him feel like shit had just confirmed Harry’s thoughts that whatever was going on between the two of them, it wasn’t healthy.  It was tearing every shred of sanity from Harry, and it was making Louis feel like shit, so what was the good in them even trying to get along?

Harry got to school early on Monday morning, trying to ignore the fact that his palms were disgustingly sweaty and his tongue felt like it was three times too big for his mouth.  He couldn’t figure out exactly why he was so nervous, but he kept telling himself not to think about it too much.  Soon it would all be done with, and he could step back and let the issue be handled by people who actually knew what they were doing.

That thought disintegrated as soon as Harry rapped his knuckles against the coach’s office door.  He shifted back on the balls of his feet, wondering if he could bolt through the gymnasium and escape before the coach opened the door.

“Come in,” the coach called out.

  Harry forced himself to open the door, poking his head in and clearing his throat awkwardly. “Hi, Coach.”

“Morning, Styles.  You know there’s no practice this morning, right?” the coach asked, raising an eyebrow.  He shuffled a few papers out of the way before gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

 Harry slipped into the office, making sure the door was shut tightly behind him. “Er, yeah.  Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about something a little more personal.” He sat down on the very edge of the open seat and his eyes wandered over the office, taking in the various trophies and team pictures – probably the coach’s pride and joy.

The coach looked uncomfortable at the mention of a personal conversation. “Oh.  Of course,” he said stiffly. “What’s on your mind, kid?”

Harry bit back the urge to pull a face at being called ‘kid’. “It’s not about me, really.  It’s about a friend.”

“Look, Styles, if this is one of those situations where your ‘friend’ is really you, don’t even bother with the false pretenses.”

Harry shook his head. “No, no, it really is a friend.  Well, I’m not sure we’re exactly friends…I don’t know what we are, but he’s a guy I know.  And, uh…he’s…he’s being, um, abused.” His voice grew smaller and smaller as he went on, and he had to peek a glance up at the coach to make sure he’d actually heard him.

The coach’s brows shot up noticeably. “That’s a very serious accusation.  Are you absolutely sure?”

Harry nodded eagerly, then paused. “Well…I don’t have any solid proof or anything.  But his dad looked like he was about to hurt him, and he was covered in bruises!  Not just little ones from playing footy, but big ones –  _dark_  ones, all over his body.  Places you wouldn’t get injured just playing on your school team,” Harry rambled, desperate to earn the coach’s trust on this matter.A thoughtful but troubled look plastered itself across the coach’s face. “I’m assuming this boy goes to this school then, yeah?” Harry nodded. “And, since you’re talking about football so much, he’s probably on the team?”

“Yeah,” Harry murmured quietly.

“Is…is it Tomlinson?” the coach supplied.

Harry’s brows drew together, both stunned and suspicious. “How did you know?”

“It’s not exactly hard to detect when you’re a football coach.  Why do you think Tomlinson is late all the time?” he asked with a scoff.  Harry remained silent. “He refuses to change or shower in the public locker room so that nobody sees the bruises.  He lurks around behind the school for hours after practice ends so that he doesn’t have to ho home – behind that huge tree, you know the one?”

Harry would have smiled if it weren’t for the somber nature of the discussion.  He knew  _exactly_  which one; the same tree he’d fucked Louis against. “But if you knew he was being hurt, why didn’t you try to help him?” he asked, curling his hands into fists so tight his knuckles went pale.  Rage was boiling up inside him, hot and thick and choking out all his thoughts.  How the fuck could a teacher just stand by and pretend not to notice that a student was being  _abused_?

“I  _did_  try,” the coach insisted. “I tried talking to everyone – social services, the police, the school board – and all of them said that, without Louis coming out and admitting he was abused, or at least some  form of proof – there was nothing they could use to build a case.  Like I said before, abuse is a very serious accusation.  People won’t take you seriously without hard evidence.”

“But…but…he’s being hurt!  He’s being  _beaten_!” Harry spluttered. “You can’t just let that go on!”

“I’ve talked to Tomlinson myself, tried to get him to admit it to me, but he won’t budge.  There is nothing more I can do.  If there were, believe me, I’d do it.  He’s my star player, and more than that, he’s a great lad.  He doesn’t deserve this, and it really does sicken me to think about him getting hurt like that.  But unless Louis comes to me and specifically states that he’s being abused, I can’t do anything.” The coach’s voice was tight, and he squeezed the pencil in his hand with such force that Harry wondered if it would snap.

“I’ll talk to him this morning, see if I can get him to open up,” Harry assured him.

The coach scoffed. “Haven’t you heard?  He broke his ankle, called in sick today.  It looks like he’ll be out for the rest of the season.  Which reminds me…I have to move you up to second string.  Someone’s gotta cover for Louis.  I don’t want him completely off the team, though, so you two will still be working together as…co-water boys, I suppose.  You’ll have to do most of the walking and lifting, but anything that can be done while sitting down, he can help you with.”

Harry let out a strangled whine. “What?  No!  I mean, why do I have to work with him?”

“I thought you were friends.” The coach furrowed his brows.

“No, I was just…concerned.  I saw the bruises and was worried,” Harry stammered.  This was all coming back to bite him in the ass.

“But the bruises are mainly on his chest and hips…if you two aren’t friends, how did you get close enough to him to see him shirtless?  He wouldn’t let just anyone see his bruises.”

 _Oh, well see, I carried his unconscious body home the other night and stripped him completely naked before dressing him in his pajamas and tucking him into bed.  The real miracle here, though, is that I didn’t see the bruises when I was fucking him against the tree – though that’s probably because it was dark and he still had his shirt on_ , Harry thought to himself bitterly.  Instead of saying all that, he simply shrugged and said, “Long story.”

The coach shook his head with a bewildered look on his face, not even bothering to try and understand the situation. “Well, you can’t dislike him as much as you let on; after all, you came here to talk to me and try to help him.  I can’t afford to lose any other players, and I’m not willing to let Louis off the team quite yet.  The less time he spends at home, the better.”

Harry searched his brain for another excuse, but he came up with nothing. “Yeah…I guess you’re right.” He stood up and grabbed his bag off the ground. “Thanks for trying to help, anyway.”

“If you can convince Louis to get help, come back and talk to me.  Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like more than to help that boy and see the bastard who hurt him get what’s coming to him.” The coach said, his voice gruff with anger just thinking about Louis’s father.

Harry felt slightly better, knowing that the coach really was concerned for Louis and not just doing what he felt he was obligated to do. “I will.  See you at practice tomorrow, Coach Higgins.”

Just before Harry could close the door, the coach spoke again, with an unsteady but warm grin on his face. “When we’re off the pitch, you can call me Paul.”

Harry trudged away from the office, mentally mapping out the way to Louis’s house from the school.  Classes be damned; Harry was going to spend the day with Louis.

 

-

 

When Harry saw the glossy black Jeep parked in the driveway of Louis’s house, he felt a lump of fear settle deep in his stomach.  He hadn’t considered the possibility of Louis’s dad being home, and just imagining the potential conflict that he might have to face had him feeling quite unsettled.

He briefly considered turning and running as fast as his feet could carry him, but he forced himself to swallow his fear.  After all, he’d already come this far, right?

His courage deserted him as soon as he pressed a shaking index finger to the doorbell, and he found himself glancing around to see if he could duck behind the nearest hedge before the door opened.

Before he could even take a step towards his poorly-planned escape route, however, the door creaked open. “Hello?”

Harry turned and blinked up at the man standing in the doorway.  He looked much different now that he was sober – he was clean-shaven and dressed in a well-pressed suit with a briefcase in one hand and a thermos of coffee in the other, and if Harry didn’t know better, he might have thought that he was just another respectable man heading off to work.

“Is Louis here?” Harry asked, clenching his jaw tightly.

The man glanced at his watch quickly, eyes widening as he realized the time. “Yeah, yeah, he’s just upstairs having a bit of a lie-in.  Shouldn’t you be getting to school?”

“I was on my way.  Thought I’d stop by and see how he’s doing.  After all,  _someone’s_  got to make sure he’s okay,” Harry said coldly.

Mr. Tomlinson’s expression faltered.  He sighed and pursed his lips thoughtfully, choosing his words with extreme care. “Look, I’m terribly sorry about how I acted the other night.  I’d had a bit too much to drink, you see.  I don’t know what came over me. Really, it’s…it’s very unusual.  As soon as I woke up the next morning, I took Louis to A&E, and I haven’t stopped apologizing since.  I still feel awful that you saw me like that, though.”

Harry narrowed his eyes.  The man’s words seemed too rehearsed, too formal, like he’d given this kind of speech many times before. “Yeah.  Yeah, I understand,” Harry mumbled, wishing he could laugh in the man’s face, but he feared that, if he angered him, Louis would be the one to suffer for Harry’s actions.

Mr. Tomlinson flashed Harry a smile, though it didn’t touch his eyes. “Wonderful.  I’m glad we got this mess sorted out, then.  Did you need a ride to school?  I could drop you off on my way to work.”

Harry shook his head. “I’ll just go see Louis, if that’s all right.  I mean, to see if he wants me to pick up any homework for him or anything.”

“Oh…er, yeah, I suppose that would be all right.  He’s out cold at the moment, but you can wake him up if you need.  Just let yourself out, yeah?” The man said, turning and nudging past Harry, trailing off down the steps without a proper ‘goodbye’.

Harry watched as the car pulled out of the driveway and veered down the street, waiting until it was safely out of sight before he turned and walked inside, locking the door behind him and toeing his shoes off.  It was quite strange, being all by himself in a stranger’s home.  He wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to wake Louis – after all, if he was still on the mend then he probably needed his rest, right? – but he had no idea what he was supposed to do by himself until Louis woke up.

And even then, what the fuck would he say when Louis came downstairs and saw Harry just lounging around in his living room?  It was starting to dawn on Harry just how poorly he had planned this whole thing.

Instead of just dwelling on his worries, however, he decided to poke around the living room.  Pictures were scattered throughout the room, but the more Harry looked through them the more he realized that they were mostly just pictures of Mr. Tomlinson with various men and women dressed in professional attire – probably work colleagues, he decided.  There was only one picture that included Louis, and Harry couldn’t help but crinkle his nose as he saw it.  It looked to be at some sort of work party, judging by the fact that everyone there was still dressed in relatively formal attire.  Mr. Tomlinson had one arm draped around some strange woman, the other thrown around Louis’s shoulders.  Louis was dressed in some horribly stiff-looking suit, a glass of champagne perched between his fingers and a sad, forced smile on his lips.  It made Harry sad just looking at it, and he set the picture face-down on the table with a grimace.

However, in doing so, his elbow knocked into the table lamp resting just behind him, and he spun around just in time to watch it clatter to the floor and smash into several pieces.  Electric sparks flew from the wire as the plug ripped out of the wall socket, the bulb shattering against the floor.

“Oh shit.  Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Harry grumbled, staring at the mess on the floor with no idea what to do.

“Who’s there?” Louis’s voice, shaking but determined, echoed from upstairs.

“It’s just me!” Harry called back, wincing.  He hadn’t really planned what he was going to do once he had arrived, but it definitely wasn’t this.

“Great, that’s really helpful, ‘ _me_ ’,” Louis grumbled sarcastically.  Harry could hear loud and awkward thumps against the hardwood of the upper floor, hobbling down the stairs before turning into the living room.  Louis’s foot was covered in a white plaster cast, crutches clutched stiffly under his arms. “Oh, it’s you.”

“That’s what I said.” Harry tried to pull a joking smile, shifting subtly in front of the broken remains of the lamp to try and hide them.

“I can’t decide what to ask first; why you’re here, or why you broke my lamp,” Louis said, quirking an eyebrow.

“I’d recommend the first one,” Harry piped up, nudging a broken piece of light bulb under the couch with his toe.

Louis lost his balance a bit, teetering and wobbling dangerously as he struggled to hold himself up on one foot.  He jammed the crutches out just in time to stop himself from colliding with the wall. “Right, let’s hear it then.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply when he realized that he had no sane explanation, nothing reasonable that he could offer as an excuse.  He couldn’t just come out and say, ‘ _I know you’re being abused and I want you to stop hiding it_ ’, now could he?

“Er…actually, let’s talk about the lamp,” Harry offered instead.

“It belonged to my great grandmother,” Louis said, voice flat and void of any emotion.

“Oh, then I suppose it was time for you to get a new one anyway,” Harry joked.

Louis quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Is there any particular reason you broke into my house and destroyed my great grandmother’s lamp?”

“First of all, I didn’t break into your house.  Your dad let me in.” Harry crossed his arms and let his chin stick out indignantly.

“Why are you even here?” Louis muttered, grimacing and turning around to hobble into the kitchen.

Harry followed after him, trying to ignore the small panic attack he nearly had when one of Louis’s crutches snagged on one of the kitchen chairs. “I was just wondering if you wanted me to pick up your homework for you.  Y’know, since you won’t be in school.” Harry’s mind started whirling, trying to find a way to turn this lie into an excuse for him to stay long enough to pry some information out of Louis – something he could use to help get him away from his dad.

“How did you know I wasn’t going to school today?” Louis grabbed an apple off the counter and took a bite, chewing slowly without ever taking his eyes off Harry.

Harry shifted uncomfortably.  He didn’t like this.  He could normally read Louis’s emotions easily enough – even when he reverted to shyness and pulled himself back inside his shell, at least Harry knew how to coax Louis out (granted, the majority of times he’d ‘coaxed him out’ had simply resulted in various sexual acts).  But now Louis was completely unreadable.  His tone was even, his face carefully arranged in an expression that conveyed nothing more than suspicion.

Harry blinked a few times. “Okay, fine.  Coach told me you were out sick, and I wanted to know how you were doing.”

Louis took another bite of his apple and chewed, his movements unbearably slow, before he finally swallowed with a loud gulp. “I’m fine.  You can leave now.”

“Look, Louis, I’m sorry about—” Harry began.

“About what?  About calling me a slut?  About blaming me for all of your problems?  About fucking me and then suddenly treating me like scum –  _twice_?” Louis cut him off, his voice loud but unsteady.  His fingers trembled around the apple still clutched tightly in his hand.

Harry cleared his throat quietly, looking Louis dead in the eye. “Yeah, about that.  All of it.” He could feel his palms growing sweaty because  _shit_ , when he really looked at it from Louis’s perspective, he realized just how much of an absolute dick he had been.

Louis stared at Harry for a few minutes longer, jaw clenched and his fingernails digging into the ruby red skin of the apple.  After the longest one minute and four seconds of Harry’s life (not that he’d been counting), Louis slumped back against the counter with a sigh. “You’re such a twat.” After a brief pause, he gave a meek glance up at Harry, peeking up at him through thick lashes. “Do you want to hang around here today?”

Harry felt the strangest twinge of relief in his stomach, and for a split second he just wanted to throw his arms around Louis, because things finally felt like they’d returned to normal – well, as close to ‘normal’ as they’d ever been, anyway. “Yeah.  Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis tries being assertive with Harry over breakfast and fails. Miserably.

“If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to have to help me out a little,” Louis said, gesturing down to the clunky cast swallowing up his calf.

Harry blinked a few times. “Er, yeah.  Okay.”

“First of all, make me breakfast.” Louis paused a bit before hastily adding, “Please.”

Harry chuckled, still amazed at the lack of a single aggressive bone in Louis’s body. “What do you want?”

Louis seemed slightly taken aback that Harry had agreed so quickly. “Uh…whatever you can scrape together,” he mumbled, his temporary wave of assertiveness slipping away as he pulled himself up to sit on the kitchen counter.

“I think sitting on the counter counts as a health and safety violation,” Harry teased, spotting the bread on top of the fridge and deciding to make Louis some eggs and French toast.

 “Oh, shut up, you.” Louis grumbled, sticking his crutch out to smack Harry in the leg.  Harry pretended to stumble over the crutch and crashed to the ground, clutching his knee in to his chest.

“Shit, my leg!   _Ah, fuck_!” He screwed his face up and rocked himself across the tile.

 Louis’s face drained of all colour and his jaw dropped in sheer horror. “Are you okay?  I’m so sorry!  Do you need help?” he babbled, fumbling to adjust his crutches.  He was just about to try and climb off the counter when Harry sat up and grinned at him.

“Your concern is touching,” he said with a pleased smirk, getting to his feet and walking over to the fridge to pull out a carton of eggs.

Louis stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds before he let his crutches fall to the floor and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re a dick, you know that?”

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure you’d care if I was hurt,” Harry explained with a shrug.  He rooted through the cupboards, searching for a large bowl and a frying pan.

“Need help finding something?” Louis said, his voice entirely too smug as he watched Harry dig through almost every cupboard in the kitchen.

Harry scowled at Louis’s tone. “No, I’m fine.  I’ll just improvise,” he said, pulling out two deep silver pots and deciding to use one as a bowl and the other as a pan.  It wasn’t ideal, but he wasn’t about to ask Louis for help when he sounded so pleased with himself.

“You won’t even ask where anything is?  You’re such a  _guy_ ,” Louis taunted lightly.

“Yeah, last time I checked I had the parts.  I’m pretty sure you can vouch for me, too,” Harry drawled with a wink, hunting through the pantry and collecting all the spices he needed.

Louis watched Harry work in curious silence for a few moments, his eyes following the taller boy’s every movement.  Harry pretended not to notice as he cracked open the eggs into one pot and put the other on the stove, turning the element on and spooning a glob of butter into it.

“Should I be worried?  You’re not going to try to poison me or anything, are you?” Louis asked, picking the jar of cinnamon off the counter and sniffing at it.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted me to cook you breakfast in the first place,” Harry pointed out, accusingly jabbing the whisk in Louis’s direction.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Louis said, then after a moment of pondering, he held out the cinnamon. “I dare you to eat a spoonful of this.”

Harry snorted and pried the jar from Louis’s fingers. “And you thought  _I_ was trying to poison  _you_ ,” he grumbled, screwing the lid back on the container and putting it out of Louis’s grasp.

Louis shrugged and scooped up the jar of nutmeg instead, and Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes.  He was like a grabby 5 year old who wanted to touch and smell and taste everything he could get his hands on.  Harry didn’t want to admit it, but it was almost kind of… _cute_.

It took twenty minutes for Harry to finish cooking Louis’s breakfast (it would have been fifteen, were it not for Louis’s constant interruptions of “what is that?” “I think that’s burning” and “can I stir?”, even if he  _had_  lit up with glee when Harry had nodded and passed him the whisk), and though Harry didn’t want to seem too full of himself, he was actually quite pleased with the result.  He’d cut the French toast in perfect triangles and the eggs were just the right shade of buttery yellow.  He had even gone so far as to slice a banana and some strawberries over the toast.

“Aren’t you going to arrange the fruit into a smiley face?” Louis pouted.

It took Harry a minute to realize that Louis was joking. “You’re welcome,” he said sarcastically as Louis hobbled over to the breakfast bar and let himself drop into the stool.

“Keep up that attitude and it’ll be reflected in your tip,” Louis teased, cutting off a corner of the bread and carefully scooping up a few pieces of fruit before lifting his fork up to his mouth.  He chewed for a few seconds before his face lit up and he nodded. “Mmf!  ‘S good!” he said, struggling to speak through the mouthful of food.

Harry let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and he bit down on his lips to keep himself from grinning like an idiot. “Yeah, well,” he mumbled lamely, giving a nonchalant shrug to brush it off.

“10 out of 10, gold star, would recommend,” Louis rambled on, swallowing with a satisfied gulp, and Harry very definitely did  _not_  notice the way his Adam’s apple bobbed temptingly as he did so. “Have I stroked your ego enough yet?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Just shut up and eat,” he muttered, trying to hide the fact that he was utterly beaming on the inside.

Louis happily obliged, and the next few moments were silent apart from the occasional scraping of the fork against the plate.  Harry didn’t want to stand there and watch Louis eat, but he didn’t really know what else to do, so he found himself awkwardly staring down at his feet and tracing the tiles with the tip of his toe.

“Harry, can I ask you something?” Louis asked quietly, pausing in between bites of his scrambled eggs.

Harry wanted to point out that Louis just  _did_ , but upon realizing that he would risk sounding like someone’s cheesy dad he quickly shooed the notion away.  Besides, the look on Louis’s face, all small and timid, told him that this wasn’t the time for shitty jokes. “Er, yeah, sure.”

“Why do you keep changing your mind about me?” Louis asked.  His eyes widened a little bit after he’d finished speaking, like he couldn’t believe he’d just said that, and he took a long gulp of orange juice as if to give himself an excuse not to speak.

“Why do you keep taking me back?” Harry found himself mumbling.

Louis shook his head, nearly choking on his orange juice in the process. “No, don’t give me any of that deep poetic ‘question-for-a-question’ bullshit.  I want an answer.”

Harry tried to find something to say – whether it was the truth or if it was just what Louis wanted to hear – but he couldn’t think of anything at all. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally.

Louis’s face fell a little, but he was quick to come up with another question. “Okay, let’s start with the easiest question and work our way up, then.”

“Wait, you mean you’ve got  _more_  questions?” Harry spluttered out.

Louis nodded and dragged a banana slice through the pool of syrup surrounding his French toast before popping it in his mouth, licking the syrup off his fingers absently (and Harry definitely did _not_  feel his jeans tighten uncomfortably at the sight – not even a little bit). “So, here’s a pretty basic one.  Do you like me?  Even just a little bit?”

Harry blinked. “Like you…how, exactly?”

“In any way, platonic or not.”

“Um…sure,” Harry offered.

Louis rolled his eyes. “How convincing,” he said flatly. “So, next question.  Do you go around to all the people you like and call them sluts and massive fuck-ups?”

“Hey!  I never called you a massive fuck up!” Harry protested.

Louis arched an eyebrow pointedly in response.

“Besides, I thought these questions were supposed to start off easy,” he added in a frustrated grumble.

“We could always go back to the obvious question; why are you here?” Louis said.

Harry leaned forward to scoop a strawberry off Louis’s plate, wincing when Louis smacked his hand away with the back of his fork. “I thought we covered this already,” he said, inspecting his hand for puncture marks.  He found none, but he still felt the need to cradle his hand protectively against his chest.

“Yeah, you told me that Coach said I wasn’t going to be in today and you wanted to check on me. But where was that sympathy this weekend?  You knew my ankle was broken all weekend, but instead you waited until today and skipped class just to show up here.  Besides, why were you even talking about me with Coach this morning?  There wasn’t even a scheduled practice this morning.” Louis said, and Harry wondered if he’d been thinking up that list ever since they’d first had this conversation in the living room.

Harry grimaced and ran his fingers through his hair, searching desperately for some sort of lie that never came to him. “I’m just really worried about you.”

Louis scoffed. “Please.  It’s just a broken ankle,” he grumbled.

Harry shook his head. “No, not about your foot,” he said, and Louis’s expression grew somber at that. “I know about…about your dad.”

“What about him?” Louis asked, spearing a strawberry on his fork with just a little too much force.

Harry noticed the way his entire figure tensed up protectively, and he frowned. “I know he…he hurts you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Louis snorted.

“You’re covered in fucking  _bruises_.  I saw them the other night when I brought you home.  They’re all over you.”

“Why did you even change my clothes for me?” Louis snapped, flinging his fork down.  It clashed against the edge of the plate loudly, making Harry wince.

“You were covered in punch, piss-drunk, and you had a broken ankle.  The least I could have done was clean you up a little.”

“No, the least you could have done was nothing.  Why couldn’t you have just stayed out of this?” Louis’s tone was softer now, and Harry almost wondered if he was talking to himself.

“I just want to help,” Harry offered after a few moments of silence.

Louis shook his head. “It’s too complicated.  People always get this idea about abuse, like it’s so easy to just get up and walk away.  They don’t get it, though.”

“Then explain it to me,  _please_!” Harry’s arm twitched forwards to take Louis’s hand in his, but he stopped himself.

Louis thought through it for a moment. “If I do, will you answer all of my questions honestly and willingly?”

Harry froze.  Louis’s questions hadn’t exactly proved to be so easy to answer in the past, and he doubted that he could bullshit his way through every single question that Louis had in mind, but he decided to cross that bridge when he came to it. “Yeah, I promise.”

Louis sighed and hopped off the barstool, propping himself up on his crutches. “Clear the table and meet me in the living room.  I’ve got something to show you.”

Harry rushed to clear the table, dropping the plate in the sink so suddenly that he half expected it to shatter upon impact.  By the time he had cleaned everything up and made his way back into the living room, Louis was sitting on the sofa with a large leather-bound book in his lap.

“What’s that?” Harry asked, brow furrowing.

Louis absently clutched the worn book close to his chest. “A photo album,” he replied, fingers trailing over the thick spine. “My mum gave it to me.”

“Oh yeah, where is your mum?” Harry found himself asking, then quickly wished he hadn’t.  What if his mum had passed away or something?  Wouldn’t he just be putting salt on the wound?

Louis didn’t seem too perturbed by the question, though. “All part of the story.  Sit down,” he said, patting the cushion next to him.  Harry obediently dropped himself down into the sofa, wiggling closer to Louis’s side and peering over his shoulder to see the cover of the photo album.  Louis smelled really good – a comforting mix of cool shower gel and spicy aftershave and a little bit of something that was just  _Louis_.  Harry wondered why he’d never noticed it before, but he soon realized that every time he’d been this close to Louis, it was right after Louis was all sweaty from football practice (and sex, though Harry personally enjoyed the smell of sex anyways).

Louis opened the front cover of the book and skimmed through a few pages of baby pictures.  Harry found himself grinning at a few of them, though Louis flipped the pages so quickly that it was hard for him to get a proper look at them.  He stopped about halfway through the book and pointed to a picture of himself – he looked around eleven or twelve, Harry noted – and two little girls.

“Those are two of my sisters, Lottie and Fizzy.  This was taken right before the twins were born, I think,” Louis murmured, pointing to each girl as he said her name.

“I didn’t know you had sisters,” Harry said, scanning the various framed photos in the room once more and trying to find some that he might have missed – some with any of Louis’s sisters in them.

“They’re technically my half-sisters.  My parents split up and my mum remarried after I was born.  After that, my mum and stepdad had four kids together – Lottie, Fizzy, Daisy, and Phoebe,” Louis answered, flicking through the book.  After just a few more pages, there were some photos of two newborn babies swaddled up in pink blankets, and Harry assumed them to be the twins that Louis had mentioned earlier.

Louis seemed to be lost in thought for a few moments as he slowly went through the photo album, a sad smile tugging at his lips at the sight of his family, all together and smiling and whole.  Harry left him in peace, knowing that it wasn’t his place to prompt Louis for more information – not now, anyway.

Louis was shaken out of his reverie upon seeing a photo of himself (Harry guessed roughly 14, though he wasn’t sure) standing with his entire family at the end of a driveway, several packed trunks propped up against a beaten-up looking car.

“But it was hard on my mum, raising five kids.  My stepdad tried to help out, but it was tough; money was so tight that they both needed to work as many hours as they could, but if they were always working then there was no one to take care of us.  So I decided to move to London and live with my dad, to make things easier for my mum and the girls,” Louis said, his voice quivering and his lower lip wobbling dangerously.  He blinked rapidly, as if fighting back tears, and Harry didn’t miss the wetness that beaded in his long lashes as they fluttered.

“Louis…” Harry murmured, tentatively wrapping an arm around Louis’s waist and pulling the smaller boy into his side.  Louis turned and buried his face in Harry’s chest, and Harry could feel Louis’s breath, hot and shaky, as it saturated his skin through his shirt.

Both boys were silent for a few moments, perfectly content to sit nuzzled up against each other, and Harry didn’t let himself think about how many lines this crossed.  Louis needed someone to hold him, and Harry needed to hold him.  It was like a burning in his skin, an ache that was only satisfied when he was around Louis – touching him, making him laugh, trying to earn his attention.

When Louis finally spoke, his voice sounded hoarse. “It’s not a big deal, really.  It’s better this way; I’ll be off at university soon anyway, right?”

“Not soon enough.  You’ll still have to put up with this for another  _year_ , Lou.  I’m sure if you just told your mum what your dad does, she’d—”

“She’d make me come home straight away, and she’d make sure that my dad could never come anywhere  _near_  me ever again,” Louis filled in, his voice bleak.

“Exactly,” Harry said, puzzled.  Louis obviously knew what would happen if he tried to get help, so why was he still hiding this from his mum?

“That’s exactly what I _don’t_ want.  I don’t want my mum to find out because I know she’ll blame herself – she’ll tell herself that she shouldn’t have let me go, or she should have seen the signs, or some other bullshit excuse because that’s what she does; she tries to take all the responsibility whenever something goes wrong.  I don’t want her to feel guilty for this.  Besides, if I stay with my dad then he’ll pay for my tuition.  My mum can’t afford to send me to school, and I haven’t got anywhere  _near_ enough money to afford it on my own.  I have to go to school so I can get a good job and help pay for the girls’ education when they’re old enough,” Louis rambled, the words spilling past his lips just a little too easily, as if he’d spent years compiling this list.

Harry groaned and shook his head.  He tightened his grip on Louis’s shoulders, angling him up so that he was looking Harry directly in the eye. “No, you  _don’t_.  I know it’s hard to see your family struggle, and I know you love them more than anything and you want to help them, but you can’t do this to yourself.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.  He’s only abusive when he’s drunk.  By the time he sobers up he feels really guilty and he apologizes,” Louis said, trying to shrug out of Harry’s hands and avoid his gaze, but Harry kept his grip firm.

“And how often does he drink?” Harry asked quietly.

Louis winced. “Just…once in a while.”

“ _Louis_.”

Louis sighed and squeezed his eyes shut regretfully. “Pretty much every night,” he admitted quietly.

Harry felt like someone had punched him in the chest, all the air escaping from his lungs in a sharp exhale.  He wanted to say something, wanted to find the words to fix things, but all he could manage was a softly murmured, “oh, Louis” as his hands traced light comforting patterns on Louis’s back.

Louis shrugged and stared down at his hands. “I’m fine, okay?” he said, trying to force a smile on his face.

“You know, there are a lot of options for people who can’t afford to pay for school on their own; scholarships, bursaries, grants, student loans…they could help you and your sisters out,” Harry said, then after a moment of thought he added, “It’s not up to you to take care of everyone.”

Louis shook his head. “But—” he began.

Harry cut him off. “It’s not your responsibility,” he reiterated. “You owe it to yourself to try and be happy.  What if your mum found out about this?  How terrible do you think she’d feel if she knew that one of the main reasons you didn’t talk to her was because you didn’t want to upset her?  Don’t you think that would be worse than any guilt trip she could make up for herself?”

Louis paused for a moment. “I…I guess.”

“Just…just talk to the coach.  Please?  I promise you, people will try to help you and your family.  You don’t need to give up everything just to make other people happy,” Harry pressed, his voice gentle.  He could feel that Louis was mulling it over now, trying to see if he actually deserved to try and be happy, and Harry was absolutely terrified of saying the wrong thing and pushing Louis back into his shell.

“I don’t know.  What if things screw up?  What if I just fuck things up even more?” Louis murmured.

“Being happy isn’t going to fuck anything up,” Harry promised. “Please,  _please_  do this.”

Louis peeked up at Harry nervously through thick lashes, gauging his expression as if to see if Harry was being sincere. “Okay…yeah, I’ll think about it,” he said with a nod, but the sheepish smile that broke out across his face showed that he wasn’t just saying it – he was  _actually_  considering it.

Harry found himself staring at Louis’s lips as they pulled up into that perfect smile, admiring the way his eyes crinkled around the corners and his nose bunched up just a bit.  He found himself leaning forward, his hand cupping at Louis’s lower back to gently pull him in closer, their lips inching together.  He could feel Louis’s chest rise and fall unsteadily as his breath hitched, could see the way his eyes widened just a bit before fluttering shut, and Harry let his own eyes drift shut just before their lips brushed together.

It was gentle and unsteady; the tentative brush of nervous lips molding together, just caressing.  Louis’s lips were soft and small under Harry’s, still carrying the flavor of bananas and syrup from his breakfast, and Harry let himself become aware of all the places where his body was pressed up against Louis’s, from the way Louis’s eyelashes tickled against Harry’s cheekbones to the way his hands were clutched on Harry’s shoulders, like he thought Harry might drift away if he let go.

After a few moments (or so Harry thought; he had lost any full comprehension of time), Louis started to slowly pull away.  Harry tried to keep his lips against Louis’s, leaning forward to prolong the kiss even if for nothing more than a few seconds.

When their lips parted and Harry opened his eyes, Louis’s cheeks had flushed a light shade of pink and he was nibbling on his lower lip in a poorly disguised attempt to bite back a grin. “Okay, now my turn.”

“What?” Harry asked, brain still foggy.  He hoped that Louis meant another kiss.

Louis grinned mischievously, and his sudden mood swing had Harry crashing back to reality. “Now I get to ask the questions.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both Zayn and Harry's mum find ways to embarrass the pants off Harry.

Harry winced and gulped nervously, his muscles instantly tensing defensively. “Okay, let’s just get this over with,” he mumbled, palms heating with a nervous sweat.

Louis made a grand show of pausing with a thoughtful look on his face, index finger tapping at his chin as he tried to choose a question. “Favourite film?”

Harry blinked. “What?”  Surely he’d misheard him; of all the questions on Louis’s mind, that couldn’t possibly have been the most pressing one.

“ _Favourite…film,_ ” Louis repeated slowly, carefully enunciating each syllable with a mocking look on his face.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Er… _Titanic_ , I suppose,” he said uncertainly, mind racing to figure out where this was going.

Louis quirked an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Well, I mean…I also quite like  _The Notebook_ ,” Harry offered.

 “ _Titanic_  and  _The Notebook_ ,” Louis noted aloud with a smirk. “And you thought you were some sort of super-macho straight guy.”

“I am…” Harry caught himself short of finishing his sentence.  He didn’t exactly need to defend himself here; if Louis could find the courage to speak up about his abusive father, surely Harry could grow a pair and admit he wasn’t sure about his sexuality. “I am confused.” He finished instead.

Louis beamed up at him, looking extremely pleased that Harry was at least acknowledging the issue of his sexuality rather than just ignoring the problem. “Well, I’ve got  _The Notebook_  on Blu-Ray if you want to stay here and watch a film with me.”

“I thought you had a bunch of other questions for me,” Harry said, puzzled.

“Oh, trust me, I do,” Louis said with a firm nod, securing his crutches under his arms before hobbling over to the television stand, rifling through the rows of DVD cases. “I just need a few minutes to think about them so I don’t forget anything.” He pulled out  _The Notebook_  and held it up with a triumphant smile.

“Oh,  _great_ ,” Harry groaned sarcastically.

 “I think there are some crisps in the kitchen,” Louis chirped, turning to set up the film.

“I just made you breakfast!” Harry pointed out with an amazed huff.

“And it was  _delicious_ , but growing boys need a mid-morning snack.” Louis said, glancing over his shoulder to give Harry a cheeky grin, and  _fucking hell_  Harry couldn’t say no to that face.  He climbed to his feet and padded towards the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards before finding a stash of crisps.  He wasn’t sure which flavour Louis preferred, so naturally he decided to pile his arms full with every single packet.  Just to be safe.

-

Harry spent the rest of the day on edge.  After they had finished  _The Notebook_ , Louis decided to put on  _Grease_  – though that resulted in Louis and Harry arguing over whether or not it was right for Sandy to change everything about herself just to make Danny happy, and that discussion ate up a good part of the afternoon.  Harry was constantly waiting for Louis to spring a hard-hitting question, but he never did.  Instead, he kept pausing the movie every five minutes to ask random little questions (“What’s your favourite colour?” “When’s your birthday?” “What’s your favourite band?” and so on), and even though Louis was completely interrupting the movie and distracting him, Harry maybe sort of liked it.  Perhaps it was the way Louis lit up every time Harry answered a question, giving him a pleased grin before turning back to the screen and pressing ‘ _play_ ’ on the remote as he nuzzled into Harry’s chest, only to pause the film again just a few minutes later.

It had been a relatively peaceful afternoon until Louis’s dad got home early and Louis had to sneak Harry out the back door, though his attempt at stealth as he guided Harry through the house was marred by the awkward crutches and cast that slowed him down.

Harry was reluctant to leave Louis alone with his dad, not leaving until he’d given Louis his phone number and made him promise to ring him if anything happened.

“Yeah, fine, I’ll call you if I need you,” Louis promised, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Now run!” He slammed the back door shut just as Harry heard the front door swing open.

Harry slid around the side of the house and out the back gate, making sure to avoid passing in front of any windows as he ran across the drive and down the street, not slowing down until he was a block away.  He could still feel Louis’s lips on his cheek, and he absently raised a hand to press his fingers against the place where he had kissed him.  An annoyingly large grin tugged at his cheeks, not leaving his face until he had made it all the way home.

“Oh Harry, there you are!  I was starting to worry,” Harry’s mum, Anne, said just as he walked into the kitchen.

“Sorry, I got held up.  What’s for supper?” Harry asked, checking his phone quickly to make sure Louis hadn’t called.

“Lasagna and Caesar salad.  Would you mind getting the parmesan cheese from the fridge for me?” Anne asked, splashing some olive oil into the salad dressing she was preparing.

Harry nodded, scooping his phone from his pocket and checking again.  Maybe he should turn the ringer on – just to make sure he didn’t miss the call.  He swung the door open and grabbed the shaker filled with cheese just as he set his ringer on high.

“Here you go, mum,” he mumbled, setting the container down on the counter and reluctantly putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Um, sweetie…this is a bottle of ketchup,” Anne pointed out, holding it up with an uncertain expression.

Harry made a face. “Oops.  Sorry, I’ll put it back.” He grabbed the bottle and headed back to the fridge distractedly,

“Something on your mind?”

“What makes you say that?” Harry asked, though he sounded far too defensive to avoid suspicion.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you’re extremely distracted, you can’t stop checking your phone, and you can’t stop smiling.” Anne pointed out.  She paused for a moment, observing Harry’s expression, before quickly adding, “And you’re  _blushing_!”

Harry tried to give a nonchalant shrug but his lips curved back into the same grin he’d been fighting off for the rest of the day, effectively blowing his cover. “The lasagna smells good,” he said instead.

  “Come on, who is it that’s got you all riled up like this?” Anne pressed, playfully nudging Harry with her elbow.

Harry shook his head and pressed his lips together, curls flopping across his forehead.  He didn’t want to tell his mum that he had a crush on another boy until after he’d managed to sort everything out for himself.  Besides, he didn’t even know what he would say.

Anne gave a disappointed sigh. “Okay, well at least give me some details.  Have you two been on a proper date yet?”

Harry blushed; he hadn’t really taken Louis out for a real date, but he  _had_  fucked him and jerked him off before.  Did that count as the equivalent of a date?  He figured they were a lot more intimate than two people who’d been out on one date, anyway. “Not a proper one, no.”

“But you’ve been on an unofficial one?” Anne said with a sly grin, picking up on Harry’s loophole. “Is that where you were this afternoon.”

It never ceased to amaze Harry how well his mum knew him. “Yeah.  We just watched some films and talked a bit.  I think you two would get on pretty well, actually.”

Anne reached forward to clasp Harry’s hands tightly between hers, thumbs stroking Harry’s wide palms. “I’m glad you’re happy, Harry.  You’ve seemed a lot more… _lively_  lately.  Whoever it is, tell them thank you for making my baby smile like this,” Anne cooed, letting go of one of Harry’s hands to reach up and pinch his cheek.

Harry squawked and swatted away Anne’s hand. “ _Mum_!” he whined, but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing.  He was amazed that he had gotten through the entire conversation without having to use gender specific pronouns, but he prayed that he could keep his luck up until after he was ready to sort things out.

A loud chime sounded through the kitchen, and Harry was instantly scrambling to claw his phone out from his pocket.  It wasn’t a phone call, but instead a text:

_(18:43) 020 7882 7643: cheers for everything  i owe u :)  xxxxx – L_

Harry took his bottom lip between his teeth, suddenly wanting nothing more than to call Louis and talk to him even though he didn’t think he really had anything to say; he just wanted to hear his voice.

“My baby’s so cute when he’s got a crush,” Anne sang happily as she saw the way Harry was staring down at his phone.  She clapped her oven mitt-clad hands together in delight before stooping down to pull the lasagna out of the oven.

Harry tried to look annoyed at his mother’s mollycoddling, but he was in too good of a mood to get away with it.  Instead he turned back to his phone, spending the next few minutes trying to figure out the perfect cheeky reply until Anne had to pry the phone from his hands to get him to sit down for supper. 

 

-

Harry was a little surprised when Louis didn’t show up for school over the next few days.  He knew that it would take a little while for his leg to recover, but surely one day off was enough for him to get the hang of the crutches.  Though he hadn’t known Louis for too long, he didn’t seem like the kind of kid to miss school any more than necessary.

“You all right, mate?  You’ve been acting sort of strange lately,” Zayn remarked with a frown as the two boys walked out to Zayn’s car after school.  As soon as they were safely inside Zayn’s car he pulled a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from the glove compartment, lighting a fag and perching it between his lips.

“Hm?  Yeah!  Yeah, fine.  Why, what are you talking about?” Harry stammered out, reaching over to turn the volume up on the radio.  Some over-processed pop song filled the car, and Harry hoped it was enough to hide the nerves in his voice.

Zayn rolled his eyes and reached over, turning the radio off completely. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he muttered, turning the wipers on to clear the thick sheet of rain from his windscreen.  For the second time in the past few weeks, football practice had been cancelled due to rain, and Harry was left feeling grateful for the unexpected break in his water boy duties.

Harry shrugged. “I’m okay.  Don’t even know why you’d bring it up.  Maybe it’s you.” He reached over to turn the radio back on.  He set the volume to an acceptable level this time, though, and he didn’t protest when Zayn switched it to some soulful R&B station.

“Whatever.  Hey, d’you wanna swing round mine?  I need some help with English.  I can’t get the hang of iambic pentameter,” Zayn grumbled, easing his car out of the parking space and into the street.

“Sure, that sounds okay.  Maybe we should stop by Louis’s house on the way?  Y’know, just to see if he needs us to pick up his homework or anything.” Harry said, the words spilling out of his mouth so quickly they were barely discernible.

  Zayn cocked his head. “What d’you wanna see him for?  I thought you two couldn’t stand each other.”

Harry tensed up, trying to give a nonchalant shrug, but in his haste it looked more like an anxious twitch. “Well, um…I feel bad for him.  The guy broke his ankle, after all.”

 “I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re paranoid.  Look, are we going to stop round Louis’s or what?”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.” Zayn’s voice grew tight, and Harry let out a defeated sigh.  Zayn  _hated_  it when people lied to him, and Harry knew him well enough to know that there was no winning – not when he got in a mood like this.

“I don’t know…it’s weird,” Harry grumbled dismissively, sinking low in his seat until the seatbelt was pressed against his throat.

“I’ve known you since year three; I doubt there’s much you can say that would seem weird to me at this point.” Zayn pointed out with a scoff.

This much was true, Harry realized.  In fact, he wasn’t sure he could find a better person to talk to about all of this than Zayn. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said, letting out a defeated sigh as the car pulled into Zayn’s driveway.

Zayn climbed out of the car with a pleased grin on his face, evidently considering it a victory that Harry had caved so quickly. “C’mon, you haven’t even known Tomlinson very long.  What could possibly be so weird?”

Harry followed Zayn inside, the two boys tossing their bags on the floor next to the door and completely forgetting about the homework they were supposed to do. “You’d be surprised,” he grumbled, padding up the stairs and down the hall.

Zayn collapsed on his bed as soon as he entered the room, leaving Harry to close the door behind him before settling into the black bean bag chair in the corner of the room.

“Try me,” Zayn challenged, rolling onto his side so he could look Harry in the eye.

Harry took a deep breath and cleared his throat, making sure his voice was even before he spoke. “I fucked him on the football pitch.”

Zayn stared at Harry for almost a whole minute, doing nothing but blinking. “What?”

“I fucked him.  On the football pitch,” Harry repeated slowly.

“Shit, yeah, I heard you, but…what?” Zayn stammered. “Wait, when?”

“A few weeks ago, after the first football practice,” Harry explained.  He was surprisingly calm – he hadn’t thought he’d even be able to make it through the first sentence, to be honest – and he suspected it had something to do with the fact that he felt as if a huge weight was being lifted off his chest.  He was finally dealing with the secrets that had been weighing him down these past few weeks, and the relief was instantaneous.

Zayn blinked a few more times, and then, much to Harry’s shock, he started  _grinning_. “Atta boy, Styles!  Top or bottom?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to blink at him in confusion. “Er…top.”

Zayn cackled. “I figured as much.  Now that I think about it, Louis’s got just the right kind of arse for a bottom.”

Harry let a little smile pull at his lips. “I can say from personal experience that it is  _very_  nice indeed – better than it looks, if that’s possible.”

Zayn let out a cross between a groan and a laugh. “Too much information!” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, before he speaking again. “Wait, the first football practice?  That was before you tried to blow that guy in a bathroom stall at that club.”

Harry grimaced. “Like I said, long story.  I dunno, it was just…well, the night before that Louis sucked me off on the pitch—” He started.

“Wait, how many times have you guys fucked around on that pitch anyway?  I have to  _play_  on that, you know!” Zayn said, half-heartedly throwing a pillow at Harry’s head.

“It was just those two times.  We technically didn’t really fuck on the pitch, though – just behind a tree  _near_  the pitch.” Harry explained, dodging the pillow easily.

“Behind a tree?  Jesus Christ, you two are the kinkiest wankers ever.  I didn’t think Louis had it in him,” Zayn noted.

Harry shrugged. “He’s a bit of a sub, actually; he just sort of  _takes_  it.” His mind flashes back to how eager to please Louis had been both times they’d fooled around, and he felt a pang in his stomach.  It took him a few seconds to realize that it was because he missed Louis, and the thought made his stomach flip excitedly.

“Ugh, I don’t need that kind of thing.” Zayn hissed.

Harry threw his arms up exasperatedly. “You’re the one who keeps asking about this!”

“I’m excited for you, Haz.  What can I say?  Now, back to the bloke in the bathroom stall.”

“Right, um…well, after Louis and I fooled around again, I just felt like shit.  I didn’t really think I was….y’know,  _gay_.” Harry still could barely say the word without feeling like it was some big secret – which, he realized, was ridiculous. “So I wanted to go to the club and bed some random girl.  I don’t know, I guess I thought that it would make me forget about Louis or something.  It wasn’t exactly my best plan.”

“Apparently not, because you didn’t bed some chick; you blew a guy in the bathroom.” Zayn interrupted.

“ _I’m getting to that part_!” Harry squawked. “Besides, I didn’t blow the guy, I just _almost_  did.”

“Ah yes, that’s much different,” Zayn said sarcastically, cracking a grin.

“It is!  Anyway, I wound up getting inexcusably drunk, and I just realized that this girl that was trying to flirt with me wasn’t right.  I mean, I suppose she was attractive enough, but she was just wrong, in some weird way.”

“Yeah, because she had tits, prob—” Zayn began.

“Oi!” Harry cut him off. “Let me finish the story before you start throwing in your snarky little comments, yeah?”

Zayn laughed, evidently very amused with whatever joke he’d been about to make, but he gave a silent nod.

“Like I was saying, I was very drunk, and, by this point, I’d thought about getting laid enough that I was really horny.  So I saw some guy trying to catch my eye from the other side of the club, and he just seemed  _right_.  I mean, after we got into the bathroom stall I realized that it wasn’t what I wanted, but it didn’t feel wrong in the same way that it had with that girl.”

“Permission to speak?” Zayn asked with a formal salute.

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re such a little shit,” he muttered, throwing the pillow back at Zayn with a laugh.

“So is this your way of coming out of the closet, then?” Zayn caught the pillow easily and tucked it under his head.

“I don’t know.  I mean, I might not be gay, right?  I could be bi, or pan…or I could be completely straight, and Louis could be some weird exception.” Harry said.  He felt defensive over this, but he wasn’t quite sure why.

“Didn’t you hear a word you just said?  You basically described how a gay man might feel if a girl tried to get in his pants,” Zayn said with a derisive snort.

“Maybe she just wasn’t my type,” Harry sniffed.  He really had no idea where this conversation was going.  On the one hand, he  _knew_  he wasn’t straight – that was what the entire conversation had been about – but on the other hand, he didn’t really want to admit it quite so freely.  Coming out of the closet meant he’d have to deal with a lot of changes and, considering his high school hadn’t exactly been quite so kind to Louis upon discovering his sexuality, a lot of hardship.

“Mate, you were piss-drunk and horny, just like you said.  I’m pretty sure anything with  _legs_  would have been your type that night.” Zayn said.  Harry continued to glare bleakly at him, and Zayn finally gave a heavy sigh and held his hands up, mock-surrender style. “Okay, then let’s think this through.  What exactly was wrong with her?”

Harry sighed, trying to remember something –  _anything_  – about the girl.  She’d sort of just become this faceless blonde memory, all faded and indistinct. “I remember thinking that she was too soft and small.  And too curvy.  Not, like, her figure or anything, just in all of her.  The way her body all came together wasn’t sharp enough.”

“Like her hips and tits and legs?” Zayn offered helpfully.

Harry nodded eagerly. “Yeah, exactly!  And she smelled too sweet and fruity, and her hair was too long, and features were too small.  I dunno, it was just all off.”

“Well, compare her to other girls that you’ve had a crush on,” Zayn offered.

“Uh….” Harry froze, unable to think of a single girl he’d liked.

“Oh, come  _on_  Harry!  I know you’re a bit slow sometimes, but even you can’t be that thick.  So you didn’t like a girl in a club because she was a girl, and you’ve never liked a girl before, but you still think you’re straight?” Zayn was practically howling with laughter.

“Maybe I have high standards!” Harry snapped.

“Holy shit…did you have a crush on Niall in year six?” Zayn asked suddenly. “You were always talking about him and always trying to hang around him.”

Harry thought back to that year and winced; okay, maybe he  _had_  fancied boys other than Louis, then. “I dunno…maybe a little one.” He admitted.

Zayn bit down on his cheek to keep from laughing. “Can you at least admit that you’re gay now?”

Harry gave a slight nod. “Tentatively.  I’ve still got a lot more thinking to do before I officially, like, come out of the closet.”

“Okay, sorted.  Now, what about Louis?” Zayn asked, settling back into his bed.

“I don’t know, man.  I can’t forget about him; I just hated him so much because I felt like he was making me gay – I heard that, you little bastard – you’re  _laughing_  at me, aren’t you?”

“I can’t help it!  How can someone  _make you gay_?” Zayn cackled.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I guess we sort of fell into this weird love-hate relationship.  Minus the love.  It was more of a friends with benefits kind of thing, plus the occasional violent row.  But…I don’t want that anymore.  It’s weird.  I just kind of want a normal relationship with him, y’know?  Granted, we got off to a pretty shitty start, but I really like him.  I went ‘round his place earlier this week, and we just watched some films and talked.  It was nice; I want  _that_.”

“Well, if he’s put up with you this long, especially after you put him through all that shit, then he’s gotta like you, too,” Zayn said, as if it were basic knowledge.

“Really?” Harry asked, unable to stop the hopeful tone that crept into his voice and made him sound like an overexcited puppy.

“Haz, he fucked around with you  _twice_ ; there must have been something there at one point.  Besides, if he’s letting you back in his house to watch films and talk, he’s obviously still interested.”

Harry grinned to himself stupidly. “Yeah…maybe.  I hope you’re right.”

“How cute, Ickle Baby Harry’s got a crush!” Zayn cooed.

Harry grimaced. “Make one more condescending comment and I’ll show the entire football team pictures from that time in year five you cut your own hair in the school toilets.”

Zayn’s expression sobered up and he quickly ceased his mocking, mumbling out a few comments along the lines of “wanker can’t take a joke” and “thought people in love were supposed to be fucking  _happy_ ”.

 -

Harry arrived at school almost 20 minutes early the next morning, standing by himself in the middle of the football pitch as he waited for his teammates to show up.  He used his spare time to dribble a ball across the pitch and practice some little tricks he’d learned off the Internet in an attempt to impress Louis.  Even if Harry was finally going to admit to himself that he fancied Louis, he still hated how smug the boy was whenever he beat Harry at football.

By the time all of the boys had arrived and the coach was starting to run through the morning drills, Harry felt like a weight had settled in the pit of his stomach.  Louis was nowhere in sight, and it had now been almost a full week since Harry had seen him.

“Okay boys, looks like we’re going to have to switch things up a bit.  Payne, you’re taking over Tomlinson’s position for the rest of the year; Styles, you’re taking Payne’s spot on second string.  Malik, you’re in charge of shaping Styles up; we’ve only got two weeks until our first game, and I need everyone on this team to be in top shape,” the coach announced. “Now, everyone pair up and practice your passes.  Pylons are already set up; you know the routine.”

The boys fell into their usual pairs and scattered across the pitch obediently.  Zayn sidled up next to Harry expectantly, but Harry pushed past him to follow the coach.

“Wait, what do you mean Liam’s taking Louis’s position for the rest of the year?  Louis will be out of his cast in about a month, and then he’ll be able to play again,” Harry pressed.  He knew how much football meant to Louis, and he wasn’t about to let this get taken away from him.

“No, he won’t,” the coach said gruffly, scooping his clipboard off the bench and tucking it under his arm.

Zayn’s brow furrowed, a puzzled look on his face. “What’s going on?  Why are you giving Louis’s spot away?”

The coach sighed and readjusted his cap over his head uncomfortably. “Because Louis Tomlinson doesn’t go to this school anymore.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn and Harry hunt for information, but their spy skills don't turn out to be exactly top-notch.

“You do understand that we could be expelled for this,” Zayn hissed, trailing closely behind Harry as they crept through the deserted halls.  It was only first period; most kids were in class, and Harry knew for a fact that the coach was supervising the freshman boys’ gym class this period, leaving his office empty and unguarded.

“I doubt they’d  _expel_  us,” Harry snorted, his hand closing around the doorknob.  He gave a tentative twist and discovered – much to his delight – that Coach Higgins didn’t lock the back entrance to his office. “Look, it’s open!  We’re not even breaking and entering, we’re just…entering.”

“And going through confidential files without anyone’s permission,” Zayn reminded Harry, but despite his reluctance he followed Harry into the small, cluttered office.

“We wouldn’t have to go through these files if Coach had just  _told_  us where Louis was and why he left,” Harry grumbled, climbing over to the desk and rifling through the endless piles of disorganized documents scattered across its surface.

“Do you not understand what ‘confidential’ means?” Zayn demanded incredulously.

“Shh!” Harry snapped.  The gym was just on the other side of the wall, and the connecting door between the rooms wasn’t exactly soundproof. “Stop complaining and come help me look.”

Zayn paused for a moment, a displeased grimace evident on his features, before giving in with a reluctant sigh. “What are we looking for?”

“Anything with Louis’s name on it.  Or his signature or handwriting. Just…anything Louis-y,” Harry mumbled distractedly.  There didn’t seem to be any helpful paperwork on the desk, much to his dismay. He reached down to try and tug at one of the desk drawers, but it held firm. “Shit, it’s locked.”

“I’ll look through his coat for a key,” Zayn offered, turning to inspect the pockets of the coat hanging off the door handle.

The door swung open suddenly, nearly  _thwack_ ing Zayn in the face.  He had barely enough time to leap back from the door before the coach stepped through it, his eyes widening as he saw the two boys pawing through his office.

Harry swallowed thickly. “Oh, Coach!  There you are!  We were looking for you!” 

Coach Higgins raised an eyebrow. “Good thinking, looking for me in my desk drawer. I’ve been known to hide in there sometimes,” he said sarcastically.

“Good one!” Harry said with a fake laugh.  Zayn shot him a dark glare, evidently not pleased with Harry’s obvious lies, but he remained silent.

“What are you two doing,  _honestly_?” the coach asked with a sigh and a slight frown. He closed the door behind him, muffling the sound of basketballs bouncing off the floor that echoed in from the gym.

Harry sighed and sat back in the coach’s office chair, slumping dejectedly. “Looking for information on Louis,” he admitted.

The coach paused for a moment with a thoughtful look on his face.  He cast a wary look behind him, making sure the door was shut and nobody else was around, before turning back to Harry. “If anyone asks, I didn’t see you two in here, understand?”

Both boys nodded silently, eyes wide and mouths agape in puzzled shock.  Harry thought he could actually see Zayn’s legs actually _shaking_  with relief as he realized he was getting off the hook.

The coach turned to walk back out into the gym, but he turned his head and added over his shoulder, “But if I  _did_  see you, I would have told you to try the filing cabinet. Third drawer from the top,” he said, fishing a small ring of keys from his pocket and tossing it to Zayn.

“Thank you, Coach,” Harry breathed, a smile tugging at his lips.

 “For what?” Coach Higgins asked, shrugging as he kept up the ruse. “I’m only doing this because you obviously miss the kid, and I don’t think he’d have spoken up if it weren’t for you.  Don’t make me regret this,” he warned, ducking back into the gym before either boy could reply.

Zayn blinked a few times, eyes fixed on the empty space where the coach had been standing just a few seconds ago. “I thought I was going to be kicked off the team and expelled,” he mumbled, still seeming to be slightly in shock.

 “I thought you were going to piss yourself.” Harry snickered.  He got to his feet and took the key ring from Zayn’s hand, sorting through the keys until he found one that looked like it matched the filing cabinet.  ”What did he say?  Third drawer?”

Zayn nodded. “From the top,” he added.  After a moment of thought, he spoke again. “What was Coach talking about?  He said you helped Louis speak up about something.”

Harry tensed up. “I think I know what he meant.”  
Zayn rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no shit  _you_  do.   _I_  wanted to know what he meant.”

Harry ignored him, his sense of urgency growing. He rifled through the files quickly, eyes lighting up when he saw the label he’d been searching for: ‘ _TOMLINSON, LOUIS_ ’.

“Okay, here it is.  Shut up,” Harry said, despite the fact that Zayn hadn’t even said anything.  He settled into the padded office chair behind Coach’s desk and Zayn hovered over his shoulder as  he opened the folder, spreading out the documents and leafing through the papers.  They appeared to be organized by date, from oldest to most recent, and Harry found himself sorting through several pages of Louis’s old report cards and signed permission slips for away games.

“Why did Coach sign the permission slips?” Zayn asked, snatching a permission slip that Harry had just put down.

Harry furrowed his brow and peered at the paper that Zayn was holding up, taking a closer look at it.  Sure enough, right on the line where parents were meant to sign, Coach Higgins’s signature was scratched in dark ink. “Um…maybe Louis just forgot to have this one signed, and Coach bailed him out,” he lied, knowing full well why Louis didn’t have his parents sign the slip.

Zayn picked up the other slips in the folder and flipped through them quickly. “No, look, they’re  _all_ signed by Coach Higgins.”

Harry chuckled airily to clear the moment. “Huh, weird.  Maybe he’s just really forgetful and never remembers to take the slips home, so Coach always has to sign them for him.”

“That’s a very detailed hypothetical,” Zayn muttered, quirking a brow.

Harry shrugged and snatched the papers from Zayn’s hands before he could ask any more questions, stuffing them back in order at the front of the folder before continuing through the rest of the documents.

“Look, that one’s dated yesterday.” Zayn grabbed Harry’s wrist lightly to stop him from flipping through any more papers.

Harry paused, practically ripping the sheet from Zayn’s fingers in his haste to read it.  He wasn’t sure why it didn’t stand out to him more – it was the thickest stack of papers in the entire folder, each page signed and stamped and headed with a legal vignette.  He finally let himself dive into the letter, eyes hungrily searching for the answer to Louis’s sudden disappearance.

Harry felt his lips curve into a frown as he tried to read the document; none of it made any sense to him. His brain was overwhelmed by a storm of legal terms that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend; it might as well have been written entirely in Latin for the amount of it that he understood.

“What does it say?” Zayn asked after a few moments, voice quiet and tentative as if scared of breaking Harry’s concentration.

Harry gave up and dropped the papers on the desk in front of him, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t know.  I can’t even understand it, it’s all written up in fucking legal terms.   _Fuck_ , do you have any idea how frustrating this is?  The answers are all right here in front of me, and I can’t make sense of them!” Harry growled, raising his hands to rake his fingers through his hair and knot them in his curls.

Zayn reached forward and plucked the papers off the desk. “I might be able to help.  I took a few Law courses,” he offered, looking to Harry for permission before actually reading the document.

Harry nodded his consent, and Zayn immediately lowered his head to skim through the documents.  Harry was immensely grateful for Zayn; yeah, it was great that he had helped break into Coach’s office and had listened to him gush about Louis the night before without complaint, but it was more than that.  Even after everything Harry had put him through, Zayn was still being unbelievably patient with Harry, as if he understood exactly how much this meant to him.  Harry idly wondered how many drinks he’d have to buy Zayn later to repay him for all he’d done to help, though he wasn’t sure there was enough alcohol in London for the cause.

Zayn’s lips moved along as he read, occasionally mumbling out snippets of sentences that he deemed important, as if giving Harry the highlights of the document. “Sole custody…unfit home…restraining order…testify on claims of physical and sexual abuse…”

Harry winced at that bit.  He’d never really considered the possibility of sexual abuse, though as he thought about the shape and position of certain bruises he’d seen on Louis’s body, he realized how completely stupid he’d been to miss the signs.

Zayn continued to mumble over the lines, his voice growing stronger as he reached the line that held the answer to his question. “…custody will be passed to a more suitable home, as deemed by the court and witness, and all contact between the child and the accused will be forbidden unless adamantly supervised and approved by the court.”

The two boys sat in silence for a few moments, the words hanging heavy in the air as they both tried to make sense of everything.

”So he’s safe, yeah?  He’s just moved away from his dad, he’s not…not hurt or anything?” Harry finally managed to ask, his voice weak and cracking.

Zayn nodded once, the motion so slight that Harry barely noticed. “Did you, um…did you know about this?” he asked, holding up the papers.

Harry swallowed thickly. “Not all of it.  I still don’t know exactly what it says.”

“It says that Louis’s dad has been beating and sexually abusing him, and is now facing prison time and heavy fines if Louis chooses to press charges,” Zayn explained quietly.

 “Oh,” Harry said lamely, unable to think of anything else to say.

 “So, this is what Coach was talking about?  When he said that you, um…you got Louis to speak up?” Zayn stammered, still seeming shocked.

Harry nodded hesitantly. “Yeah.  I only found out last weekend…I didn’t…” He couldn’t find the words he needed to finish his sentence – couldn’t even remember what he’d been trying to say in the first place – so he just let it trail off.

Zayn seemed to be just as lost for words as Harry, so he settled for simply patting him on the shoulder and letting him sit in silence for a few moments until he could collect himself.

“Right, well, there’s got to be more information in here somewhere,” Harry said once he’d regained his composure, voice abrupt and sharp with new-found determination.

“What do you mean, ‘more information’?  These are confidential legal documents, I’m pretty sure _this is_  more information than we were meant to see,” Zayn pointed out, but despite his verbal protest he helped Harry sift through the other papers.

“Yeah, but all we know now is  _why_  Louis left.  We need to know  _where_  – a phone number or something,” Harry murmured distractedly.

Zayn suddenly snatched the same document they’d just finished looking at off the table. “Wait, there was something on the back page – contact information for Louis and whoever his guardian is.” Zayn flipped through the pages, folding it over when he reached the last one.

Harry, however, grabbed it from his hands before he could read it.

“Oi!” Zayn hissed, startled by Harry’s sudden actions.

“Shh, reading,” Harry said, reaching up to press his index finger against Zayn’s lips to keep him quiet.

“I think you gave me a paper cut,” Zayn muttered, frowning against Harry’s finger.

Harry rolled his eyes, but an affectionate grin crept across his face.  His eyes lit up as he found the section he was looking for, containing Louis’s new contact information, and he turned in his seat to look Zayn in the eye.

“Did you find a phone number?” Zayn asked, taking hold of Harry’s wrist and pulling his hand away from his lips.

“Even better,” Harry said, unable to contain his grin. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Nothing…why?” Zayn asked slowly, suspicion leaking into his voice.  He let himself peer over Harry’s shoulder to see the address scribbled down on the paper, along with a brief statement saying that Louis was in the custody of a woman named Johannah Tomlinson.

The look on Harry’s face turned from one of glee to one of pure devilish mischief. “We’re going on a road trip to Doncaster.”


	13. Chapter 13

Much to Harry’s surprise, Zayn was more than happy to join him on the proposed road trip.  In fact, he was probably the more enthusiastic of the two.  He showed up at Harry’s place on Friday night at 5 o’clock sharp to pick him up, and as soon as Harry cast a glance at the back seat he saw that Zayn had packed what looked like a year’s worth of crisps and energy drinks, plus an obscene amount of cigarettes.  Despite having a GPS right on his front dash, he’d also brought along three different maps.

Harry opened his mouth to make fun of how comically over-prepared his friend was, but he quickly decided against it once he remembered that, at the end of the day, Zayn was doing this to help him. “Ready to go?” he asked instead, reaching over into the back seat and helping himself to a bag of crisps.

Zayn nodded as he pulled the car off the curb, the robotic female voice of his GPS barking out directions as soon as it sensed movement. “This is going to be so awesome.  Nothing but me, the road, and my best mate,” Zayn said, reaching over to try and playfully punch Harry in the shoulder without looking away from the road.  He missed and wound up accidentally punching Harry in the nipple instead, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“ _EXIT MISSED.  RECALCULATING.  RECALCULATING,_ ” the GPS scolded, evidently quite upset that Zayn had decided to take the main road instead of the little exit it had suggested.

“Don’t forget your leading lady,” Harry reminded him, flicking the plastic casing of the GPS pointedly.

Zayn swatted Harry’s hand away from his parents’ beloved GPS, muttering something along the lines of, ‘ _M’ dad will kill me if that thing gets so much as one bloody little scratch_ ’.  He seemed to be reminded of something at the mention of his parents, and he furrowed his brows perplexedly. “What excuse did you give your mum, anyway?”

“Told her I was spending the weekend with you to cram for that calculus test on Monday.  S’not technically a lie; I  _will_ be with you this weekend and we  _do_  have a calculus test on Monday.”

Zayn nodded. “Fair point.  By the way, if my parents ask, you and I are spending this weekend in Surrey to go to an all-weekend microbiology seminar.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry said, trying not to grimace at the mere thought of sitting through a 3-day lecture on mitosis or whatever the hell microbiology entailed.

They drove in silence for a little while.  Even the GPS was quiet; it had shut up once they’d pulled onto the freeway, only piping up once every 5 minutes to remind them of their exit in 200-something kilometres.  Harry had almost fallen asleep when Zayn spoke up again.

“Hey, Harry?” he started, voice tentative and small – like he was afraid to ask the question. “Maybe it’s none of my business or anything, but…what’re you going to say?  To Louis, I mean.”

And there it was; the question Harry had been carefully avoiding ever since he’d suggested this road trip.  He’d made sure to tiptoe around that, because he really had no idea.  He could barely even explain to  _himself_  why he was doing all this; how could he explain it to someone else?

Besides, the more he thought about it, the more problems arose in his head.  Louis had just packed up and left without so much as a ‘goodbye’.  He hadn’t even fucking  _texted_  Harry, and that was what hurt the most.  There was a part of Harry that knew he couldn’t really blame Louis; after all, Harry had been a complete ass to him on many occasions, and he wasn’t entirely sure he even deserved another chance from Louis, no matter how much he wanted one.  But there was still some part of him that felt like he and Louis had been okay – they’d spent an entire day round Louis’s, watching films and kissing and flirting endlessly, and nothing had seemed wrong then.  Louis had seemed completely normal.  If anything, things had been  _better_  than usual that day, so why had Louis shut him out so suddenly?

The realization struck Harry like a punch in the throat, and for a second he wondered if he was going to actually be sick.  This was  _exactly_  what he’d done to Louis half a dozen times, wasn’t it?  He’d flirted with him, kissed him, fucked him, cared for him, made him feel like he was there for him, and then Harry had just turned his back on him.  Only Harry had been worse; he hadn’t just shut him out, he’d also insulted him, blamed him for things that weren’t even his fault – he had deliberately  _tried_  to hurt Louis, to push him away.  And he’d only done it because he didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that he had feelings for another guy.

“Harry?” Zayn murmured quietly, prompting Harry to answer his earlier question.

Harry paused for another moment. “Sorry,” He said softly, staring down at his legs.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to answer it or anyth—” Zayn began.

Harry cut him off, shaking his head. “No, that’s what I’m going to say to Louis. ‘Sorry’.”

For a moment Zayn looked confused, but then he simply nodded and stared straight ahead at the road, deciding not to ask, and for that Harry was infinitely grateful.

“Y’know, I actually fancy someone, too,” Zayn said a few moments later, deciding to fill the heavy silence with light conversation.

Harry was glad to have a distraction, something to keep him from sinking back into his thoughts. “Do tell,” he said, arching an eyebrow coyly.  He was pretty sure he already knew, to be honest; he’d seen Zayn spending a suspiciously large amount of time with a blonde girl from his English class – if Harry remembered correctly, her name was Perrie, or something along those lines – but he decided to let Zayn spill the beans himself.

Zayn bobbed his head in an awkward nod. “Mm.  I mean, we haven’t fucked on the football pitch yet or anything, but I guess we can’t all be as charming as you.” He teased.

Harry rolled his eyes, crumpling up the empty bag of crisps he’d finished off and throwing it at Zayn’s head. “Oi, shut it!” ge grumbled, but there was a grin on his face. “C’mon, Zaynie, you’ve got to give me some details here.  What have you done so far?”

Zayn brushed the salt and crumbs from the crisps off his jacket with a slight pout, inspecting the leather as carefully as he could without taking his eyes off the road for too long. “It’s not like that.  We’re kind of just friends right now.  I mean, I want more, but I don’t know if the feeling is mutual, y’know?”

“Oh, come on.  Since when are you too shy to make a move?” Harry scoffed. “You’re always getting numbers at parties.”

“That’s different; I don’t want this to be a casual shag.  I mean, if that’s all I could get then I’d gladly take it, but I want to try an actual relationship,” Zayn said.  His eyes grew crinkly and soulful as he spoke, and Harry wondered if that was the way people were supposed to look when they thought about the people they like.  He wondered if Louis ever looked that way when he thought about Harry, but that thought had his mind going back to dangerous territory, so he turned his attention back to the conversation at hand.

“Well, you’ve got nothing to lose.  You’ll probably regret it later on if you don’t speak up, anyway,” Harry said, trying to be helpful but having absolutely no idea what he was meant to say.

“It’s more complicated than that.” Zayn said, shaking his head.

“Stop being so cryptic and just  _tell_  me who it is.” Harry urged, his curiosity finally overpowering his self-control.

“You’re sworn to absolute secrecy.  If you tell a single soul, I will break into your house at night and shave off your beloved curls in your sleep.  And possibly feed them to you, depending on how many people you tell.” Zayn warned.

Harry made a face, but he didn’t protest. “Yeah, I understand and agree to the terms and conditions, blah, blah.  Talk.”

Zayn sighed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then quickly remembered he was driving and opened them as wide as he could manage. “Er, well…it’s Liam.”

Harry blinked at Zayn, expression blank.  Had he heard him right?  He tried to think of any girl named ‘Leah’ in their school, but he couldn’t think of one. “Um?” he said lamely, unsure if he could ask Zayn to repeat himself.

“Liam Payne.  He’s on the footie team,” Zayn said.  Harry noticed that Zayn’s hands were clenched tightly on the steering wheel, tendons taut and visible through his skin and his knuckles drained purpley-white.

“Oh. So you’re…” Harry let his sentence trail off, giving a meaningful look even though Zayn was still looking at the road.

“No.  At least, I don’t think so.  I dunno, I mean, it’s just  _him_ , I’ve never really fancied any other blokes.  He’s just the exception, I guess.” Zayn shrugged.

Harry nodded. “Well, he is quite fit.  Nice abs, good biceps, very strong.  Bet he’s a nice shag.”

Zayn slammed on the brakes just hard enough to have Harry lurching forward. “Shut up!” Zayn yelped, voice pitchy and unsteady – he almost seemed like he was panicking.  The cars behind them honked in protest, and Zayn quickly stomped on the accelerator.

Harry slumped back into his seat, laughing so hard he was practically  _cackling_ , his hands clutched over his sides as they started to ache from his laughing fit.

“You’re the worst,” Zayn grumbled once Harry’s laughter had been reduced to soft giggles.

“Bet you I’m not wrong.  You’ll find out for yourself, I’m sure.” Harry grinned, and this time when Zayn reached over to punch him in the shoulder, he hit his target – and with notable force, too.

“I mean it, y’know.  I will shave your head if you let a word of this get out,” Zayn insisted.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve been thinking about getting a haircut, anyway.  The breeze would be nice.  Besides, Liam got a buzz-cut last year, didn’t he?  Maybe we could match.”

“I’m officially feeding it to you.”

“S’ good protein.”

“You’re a dick.”

“But I’m  _your_ dic – wait, that didn’t come out right.”

-

Two and a half hours later, they finally managed to find the address listed in Louis’s file (it would have been two hours even, Zayn insisted, if Harry hadn’t distracted him by mocking the GPS when it was trying to give him directions, thereby making him miss his exit and fucking everything up.  Harry maintained that it still shouldn’t have taken Zayn a half hour to find an alternate route, because they  did still have that damned GPS).

The house looked nice enough – a charming and cozy-looking semi, smushed in the middle of a dozen or so other houses that looked more or less the same.  A few toys were littered across the driveway, such as a purple hula hoop and a pink bike with glittery violet streamers fastened to the handlebars.  A woman who bore a strong resemblance to Louis poked her head out the front door, frowning at the toys scattered across the yard before rolling her eyes and seeming to give up, leaving them there and turning back into the house.

Harry, who was still safely in the car parked across the street, gulped heavily. “Yeah, I guess this is the place.”

“Then go on!  Get out of my car and go talk to him,” Zayn urged.

Harry’s fingers closed around the door handle, but he couldn’t seem to get them to move. “I can’t.  I’m going to be sick.”

“All the more reason to open the door.  If you puke in my car, you’ll be the one wiping it up and paying for the dry-cleaning bill,” Zayn cautioned.

Harry let go of the door handle and slumped far enough down in his seat that he was safely hidden from any passersby. “I changed my mind.  Take me home.”

“But you haven’t even–” Zayn began.

“I said take me home!” Harry interrupted, balling his hands into fists.

It was eerily quiet for a moment, Harry still slumped low in his seat and Zayn letting his hand rest thoughtfully on the gearshift.  Harry tried not to think about the fact that Louis was so close, practically within arms’ reach, because it scared him.  Louis didn’t owe him anything; there was nothing stopping him from slamming the door in Harry’s face without a single word.

“No,” Zayn said suddenly, voice hard and even. “I broke into Coach Higgins’ office for you, went through confidential school files for you, lied to my parents and drove up to Doncaster for you, and now I’m going to make you go in there.   _For you_.  Because you know damn well you’re going to hate yourself later on if you chicken out and leave.”

Harry sighed and frowned.  Yeah, Zayn was right, but that didn’t change the fact that Harry still couldn’t make himself move toward the door.

“Okay, I’ll try a different approach. If you don’t get the fuck out of my car, I will honk this horn repeatedly until Louis comes out of that house and over here,” Zayn decided.

Harry felt himself pale. “You traitorous little bastard,” he hissed, but he was unable to put any real venom behind his voice.

“Doing it for you, mate.  One…” he began, raising his hand over the car horn. “Two…”

“Jesus,  _fine_!” Harry snapped, launching into action out of mere panic.

As soon as Harry closed the door, he heard Zayn lock it. “Text me when you two are done, and I’ll come by to pick you up,” he called, rolling his window down just enough to speak through it.

Harry furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to ask where Zayn was going, but before he could get the words out Zayn had already taken off down the street.

On quivering knees and wobbling legs, Harry sucked a deep breath and strode across the street and onto the driveway.  His foot caught awkwardly in the chain of the small pink bicycle, sending him sprawling across the pavement and leaving his palms and chin scraped up, but he was too nervous to properly register the pain.  He could feel the dull ache, bits of gravel nuzzling into his tender skin, but it was like his brain had filed that information away for him to process later, because at the moment he was far too busy panicking to consider anything else.

He raised himself up off the ground, casting a quick glance around him to make sure nobody had seen him.  He brushed the dirt off his shirt with his fingertips, careful to keep his scraped palm away from anything that might irritate it, and continued up the driveway and jabbed the doorbell with as much force as he could muster.

“Louis, could you get the door?” Harry heard a woman’s voice call from inside, the sound escaping through the screen of a nearby open window.

“No, stay!” a little girl’s voice whined.

“Daisy, let go of your brother and come help me with dinner.  You can stir,” the woman offered, and Harry heard a high-pitch squeal of delight and small, scrabbling footsteps scrambling across the floor.

Harry briefly let himself wonder if he had enough time to run away before someone answered the door, but his hopes were shattered as the door swung open, revealing a rather exhausted-looking Louis.

 


	14. Chapter 14

It was odd, really; how Louis could look exactly how Harry remembered him and like a complete stranger, all at the same time.  He still held the same shape, in a sense – same delicate cheekbones, same thin lips, same brilliant blue eyes – but there was something about him that was different, something that he couldn’t put his finger on, but it changed everything else about him and made him look like a different person.

Louis startled at the sight of Harry, taking an unconscious step back as his eyes widened.  Harry glanced down at his foot, surprised to hear a loud  _clunk_  as Louis moved, and saw that his cast and crutches had been replaced with a large awkward-looking ankle brace.  It made Harry happy to see, though; he’d looked so much more fragile when he was on crutches.

“Oh, you…um,” Louis stammered uncertainly.

  Harry couldn’t remember if he was supposed to be angry or happy or sad.  It was possible that he was all of those things at once, or maybe he was just numb from the shock of actually seeing Louis again.

“Hey,” he said lamely, unable to think of anything else to say.  He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Louis and kiss him until their lips were bruised, but he still couldn’t tell where they stood.

“What are you doing here?” Louis finally managed to splutter, though his voice still sounded fragile and breathy.

And  _shit_ , Harry just couldn’t hold any of this against him, because it was  _Louis_. “I was just…um, in the neighborhood,” he lied, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth he wanted to kick himself for saying them.

Louis opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off as the woman Harry had seen out in the yard earlier padded into the front entrance.

“Who’s at the door?” she asked, brow furrowing as her eyes landed on Harry.

“I’m Harry.  I’m a…” Harry paused, unsure what he was to Louis. “I’m a friend of Louis’s.” He decides.

Louis’s mum – Jay, Harry remembered from the paperwork – froze in her tracks. “You’re _the_ Harry, then?” she asked quietly, a cautious expression on her face.

Harry nodded tentatively.  He wasn’t sure exactly how much Jay knew about his strange relationship with Louis.  He was fairly certain she knew enough, judging by the way the cheerful grin on her face had completely evaporated when she heard his name.

In a rather unexpected move, however, Jay suddenly took a step forward and wrapped her arms around Harry, pulling him in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, and Harry thought he could feel her torso quivering with repressed sobs. “For talking to Louis, for getting him to tell someone about…what was going on.” Her voice grew even quieter, just to ensure that Louis couldn’t hear her, when she spoke again. “Thank you for saving my boy.  He wouldn’t have opened up if it weren’t for you.”

Harry didn’t know what to do with himself, because he most certainly wasn’t expecting  _that_ , of all things, so he just nodded into the crook of Jay’s shoulder and didn’t say anything else.

After a few moments, Jay pulled away and swiped at the shiny tears running down her face, making a little sound that was a strange cross between a laugh and a sob. “Well, Louis, now that I’ve embarrassed you in front of your friend, I suppose I can leave you two be.  Why don’t you boys go for a walk?  I’ve still got to finish up dinner.”

Louis cleared his throat awkwardly and nodded, ducking his head sheepishly as he avoided Harry’s eyes, and it was then that Harry realized what was so different about him.  His shoulders weren’t all hunched forward, he wasn’t always flinching nervously whenever someone got too close.  Now that his dad wasn’t around and he’d escaped the idiotic bullies at his school, Louis didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

Harry followed Louis’s lead, staying by his side as Louis started to walk down the street.  Silence enveloped the two boys, interrupted only by the occasional scuffling of their shoes against the pavement.  Harry wanted so badly to say something, to make Louis smile, to reach out and touch him, but even though Louis didn’t look quite so afraid anymore, he could tell that his guard was up.

“I’ve got  few questions for you,” Louis said quietly after a while of walking in silence.

“So do I,” Harry said, jamming his hands in his pockets.

“Rock-paper-scissors to see who goes first?” Louis held out a fist with an expectant look on his face.  Harry felt relief course through him, because surely it had to be a step in the right direction if Louis was able to make jokes now.  But he could still feel that something was off between them, and that unsettling feeling hung in the air and settled heavily on his chest.

“Are you serious?” Harry laughed.

Louis shrugged. “Fine; since you forfeit, I’ll go first.  How did you find out where I was?  And be _honest_.”

Harry gnawed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “I broke into Coach Higgins’s office and looked for your file to figure out where you’d gone.”

Louis, for some reason, looked mildly impressed at this. “By yourself?”

“Not exactly.  I forced Zayn into helping me.”

“You could’ve been expelled if you’d been caught.   _And_  they could have pressed criminal charges against you for breaking and entering and going through confidential legal documents,” Louis pointed out.

Harry didn’t tell Louis that the coach  _did_  catch him and let him off with just a warning.  He liked the way that Louis was describing him as some sort of badass rebel, someone who would stop at nothing to find what he wanted.  He wasn’t about to ruin Louis’s idea of that.  So instead, he simply shrugged and tried to look somewhat nonchalant.

“Okay, next question: why are you here?” Louis said, kicking a small stone across the pavement with his good foot.

Harry watched the stone for a few moments, trying to figure out how to answer the question. “I needed to talk to you.”

“About?”

Harry shook his head. “No, now it’s my turn to ask the questions,” he said, just as Louis turned into a small park, leading them over to an old swing set. “Why did you leave like that?”

“You’re the one who told me to go to the school board.  Did you really think they would let me stay with him once they found out?” Louis replied easily, and Harry felt his blood start to boil.  He had been _miserable_  without Louis, and yet now that they were actually together and talking about this, Louis didn’t even seem upset about the whole thing.

“You could have said goodbye!” Harry yelled.

“It all happened so quickly.  I had to pack up everything I could from my dad’s place when he wasn’t there, and then I was shipped off on a train here to Doncaster.  I wasn’t allowed to stop and see my friends., Louis explained, the last part of his sentence dripping in bitter sarcasm.

“You have my phone number,” Harry reminded him, jaw clenched.

“They took my phone away.  They needed to use some of the text messages and voicemails as evidence.  Besides, that phone is a direct line between me and my dad if he ever tried to contact me and find out where I am.”

“Well, fuck, you could have told Coach to tell me something!”

“And how was I supposed to know you would give a damn?  For all I knew, you had just told Coach because you felt guilty and didn’t want it on your conscience.  I never knew how you felt about me; you were just too hot and cold for me to figure out.  I need something  _stable_  in my life, someone I can depend on, and that wasn’t exactly you,” Louis said, and though his words were painful and harsh, his tone remained even – cold, almost.

“Okay!  Shit, I don’t know, Louis, you just…you left me on my own with no idea where you were or what had happened to you.  I get that I was an ass to you, okay? I really do.  And I’ll understand if you want absolutely  _nothing_  to do with me, but…I just needed to know you were okay,” Harry said, cringing as he heard the way his voice cracked.  He could feel tears stinging at the back of his eyes, but he refused to let them spill across his cheeks.

Louis was silent for a few moments, simply rocking back and forth on the swing and toeing at the gravel underneath his feet. “Makes you feel like shit, doesn’t it?  When someone you really care for – someone you think you could actually fall for – just abandons you without any explanation.”

Harry winced; that one hurt. “It would make me feel a lot better if you’d just punch me a couple of times, y’know.”

Louis narrowed his eyes, watching Harry intently, before his lips twitched up in just the _shadow_  of a smile. “You’re such a freak sometimes, y’know that?”

“I’m not kidding.  I know how pissed off you must be with me – hell, even  _I_  hate myself right now for what I did to you.  Getting the living crap beat out of me would serve me right.  It’d make us both feel better.”

“I’m not pissed off with you,” Louis said, cocking his head curiously.

Harry blinked. “Why not?”

“Harry, you risked expulsion and potential criminal charges to come all the way up here just to see if I was okay, even though I completely shut you out when I left.  I’ve got to believe that you’re actually sorry, and that maybe you really do care about me,” Louis said, his face lighting up with a glow as he recounted all the things Harry had done for him, like he felt so incredibly special to have someone care about him that much.

Harry stood up off his swing and crouched down in front of Louis, cupping his face between his hands and pressing a soft chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re amazing.”

Louis’s breath caught in his throat. “Kiss me again?” He asked softly.

And Harry did.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry and Louis had barely walked in the door before Jay was shooing them into the kitchen, guiding Harry down into the seat next to Louis’s before Harry could even ask to stay for supper.

“I hope you like chicken.  If you don’t, I’ve got frozen pizzas in the freezer I could heat up for you,” Jay said, eyeing Harry carefully to gauge his reaction to the full plate of food in front of him.

Harry shook his head, mouth already watering from the tantalizing smell of a good homemade meal. “This looks great.  Are you sure it’s not any trouble if I stay?”

Jay gave a disdainful  _tut_  at question. “Of course not, dear!  No trouble at all.”

“Why don’t you say that when any of my friends want to stay for supper?” whined one of the girls – Harry wasn’t quite sure who was whom just yet.

“Because they always want to come round when I’m out, and I’m not leaving you lot in the house alone after that party you threw the last time,” Jay said, a stern look on her face.

“Ooh, Lottie’s in trouble,” sang one of the twins before scooping a forkful of mash into her mouth.

The first girl ( _Lottie_ , Harry reminded himself, filing the name away) sank down into her chair with a guilty look on her face, suddenly becoming very absorbed with her peas as she pushed them around her plate with her fork.

“Shuddup, Daisy.”

“ _Muuuum_!  Lottie told me to shut up!” Daisy dropped her fork onto her plate with a loud _clash_ to cross her arms over her chest.

“No one cares!”

“I care!”

“Of course  _you_  would, Phoebe,” said the girl sitting next to Lottie.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“You two always side together,” Lottie said.

“You and Fizzy always side together!” Harry wasn’t sure if it was Daisy or Phoebe who had spoken – he was already losing track of names.

“Because you and Phoebe always annoy me ‘n Fiz.”

Both twins instantly looked hurt, and Harry saw Jay lean forward to massage her temples and mutter under her breath, preparing to break up the fight.

Louis, however, seemed to be one step ahead of her.  He spooned a bit of mashed potato on both hands and leaned across the table, smearing it across Daisy’s nose to distract her.

“Yuck!” Daisy spat, clumsily wiping it off her face with her napkin, but she burst into a fit of giggles nevertheless.

Louis turned to Lottie with an evil grin, hand outstretched to try and spread the mash across her face as well.

“Don’t!  God, Louis, you’re such a  _dork_!” Lottie wailed, but she was laughing along with him.

“Eat your dinner, or you’ll be wearing your entire plate!” Louis threatened as soon as he had her attention, but he was sporting a huge grin.

Daisy nodded, turning to Lottie and Fizzy. “Sorry,” she said with a toothy grin before picking up her fork again, leaving the room blanketed in a peaceful silence.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Jay mouthed at Louis, who simply shrugged and gave her an easy-going smile.

Harry tried to ignore the sudden desire to pin Louis up against the wall and kiss him until his lips were bruised.  He’d heard people gush about how attractive it was to see a guy who was good with kids, but he’d never really seen the appeal – until now.  Then again, there were a lot of things that he liked just because they were a part of  _Louis_.  He wasn’t sure he’d care about any other boy who was good at football and had a charming smile; Harry just wanted Louis.

After dinner, Louis and Harry went outside to sit on the front lawn and wait for Zayn to come and pick him up.  Harry had absolutely  _no_  idea what time Zayn would arrive, but he was happy lying on the grass with Louis by his side, so he didn’t much care.

By this point it had grown dark, leaving the sky an inky shade of bluish-black interrupted only by the occasional milky gleam of stars and satellites.   Harry was lying on his back with his arms tucked under his head, and while Louis had started out lying next to him, he had since managed to slowly worm his way closer and closer until he was nuzzled into Harry’s side, head on his chest and arms draped loosely across his torso.

“You seem so much happier now,” Harry noted quietly. “I’m glad.”

“Why wouldn’t I be happy?  I’ve got my mum, my sisters, my home, my…” Louis paused thoughtfully. “My Harry,” he decided.

Harry laughed. “Your Harry.  I like it; it’s fitting.”

Louis grinned into the fabric of Harry’s shirt, snuggling his face deeper into his chest and sighing happily. “Can’t you stay for the weekend?”

Harry shook his head. “There’s a football game tomorrow back in London.  First of the season.  Coach would kill us if we missed it – well, actually, he’d kill us if  _Zayn_  missed it, I don’t think he’d miss me too much.” It had been a poor weekend for the first game, in Harry’s mind; now, he and Zayn had to go back to London and stay with Niall so their parents didn’t know they were still in town.  At this rate, they wouldn’t even get to Niall’s until the early hours of the morning, but all the trouble was worth if it meant spending time with Louis.

Louis pouted. “ _I’d_  miss you,” he pointed out, tightening his arm around Harry’s waist.

Harry’s stomach gave a happy twinge at that, and he moved his hand down to trace wide, slow circles over Louis’s back. “Where do we go from here?” he asked after a few minutes of peaceful silence.

“Well…there’s a train that goes back and forth between Doncaster and London for a pretty good price.  I could try to make it down for your football games, to see the lads and cheer for you like a good boyfriend.” Louis gave Harry a playful nudge.

 _Shit, there’s a train?  That would have made this trip a lot easier_ , Harry thought to himself with a slight pang of regret. “You can stay with me when you come round, I know my mum won’t mind.  And I could come up whenever you wanted,” Harry offered.

“I want you to come up after your game tomorrow afternoon,” Louis announced.

Harry rolled his eyes and grinned. “Not what I meant.” He swooped down to press a kiss to Louis’s hair before ruffling it fondly.

Louis squawked and swatted Harry’s hand away, brushing his hair back into place before settling his head back against his chest. “It’s going to be hard to be away from you now.  I like this; I don’t want to give it up.”

Harry frowned. “I know,” he murmured.  He wished he could make some sort of promise, assure him that they would be in touch so often that they’d hardly notice the distance between them, but he knew that it was no substitute for physically being together, cuddling under the stars and being able to touch, hug, kiss.

  His melancholy train of thought was interrupted when the front door swung open suddenly, and two small pink blurs darted out of the house.  It wasn’t until the girls had plopped down in between Louis and Harry (which was no easy feat – they’d had to push the two apart to make enough space) that Harry realized it was Daisy and Phoebe.

“Shouldn’t you girls be in bed?” Louis asked with a disdainful  _tut_ , but he reached down to tickle their sides anyway.

“We snuck out!” one of the girls declared proudly.  Sure enough, they were both sporting fuzzy pink pajamas, and one girl (Harry still hadn’t quite figured out which was which – they ran around far too quickly for him to keep track) had a green smear of minty toothpaste on the corner of her lip.

“Mummy will be cross,” Louis warned.

“It was Phoebe’s idea!” said the twin with the toothpaste on her mouth, and Harry mentally marked her as Daisy.

“We missed you.” Phoebe curled in against Louis’s side.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“We still missed you!” Daisy insisted.

“You know what I think?  I think you two just didn’t want to go to bed, and you’re trying to use me as an excuse.” Louis narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Daisy’s eyes widened, alarmed that her plan had been discovered.  Desperate for a distraction, she turned to Harry. “Can you braid my hair?”

And, though Louis was giving him a disapproving look, Harry couldn’t resist the sweet look on her face. “Sure, love.”

Daisy scrambled onto his lap, pulling a glittery elastic off her small wrist and handing it to him.  Harry wasn’t entirely sure he knew how to braid, but he decided to just wing it and hope for the best.

“You’re so weak.” Louis laughed, and Harry grinned sheepishly and shrugged it off.

“Can I give you a makeover?” Phoebe asked, her lower lip jutting out in a pleading pout. “Louis never lets us.”

Harry gulped nervously.  He was desperate to earn the affection of the twins, but the mischievous look on Louis’s face told him that this makeover would be more than he bargained for.  He’d barely finished croaking out a tentative “okay” before Phoebe was scrambling inside, yelling out that she was going to get her dress-up box.

Louis rolled back on the grass, cackling. “Oh, I can’t wait to see this.  You’ve got no idea what you’re in for.”

And it turned out that Louis was right.  Half an hour later, Daisy’s hair was twisted up in a braid that looked more like a disgruntled blonde snake, and Harry was sporting bright pink blusher, red costume lipstick (that was smeared right down to his chin, mind you), a rather itchy feather boa, and a plastic flower crown around his head.  The girls had tried to convince him to put on nail polish, but Louis had finally pitied him enough to step in and put his foot down.

“You look very pretty, Harriet.” Louis teased, snapping a picture on his phone and making it his wallpaper.

“If that picture gets out to anyone else, I’ll…” Harry had been about to say ‘fuck you until you can’t walk for a week’ but a quick glance at the twins had him rephrasing his threat. “Be very cross,” he settled on instead.

“Now, girls, go back inside before Mum figures out you’ve broken out.  Since I got some nice pictures of Harry out of this, I won’t tell her about this,” Louis said, pressing a quick kiss to both girls’ foreheads before letting them scamper off into the house.

Harry pulled the feather boa off his neck, roping it around Louis’s shoulders and using it to pull him closer. “I think red would look good on you,” he noted.  Louis gave him a confused look, but before he had time to figure out what Harry meant their lips were pressed together, insistent but still somehow gentle.  Harry let Louis push him back into the grass and climb on top of him, straddling him easily, and roamed his hands down the smooth sides of Louis’s waist, settling them around his hips.  His fingers tightened, grasping Louis’s arse through his pants, and Louis flinched a bit before grinding his hips back, seeking more of the pressure.

A loud  _honk_  sounded, and Louis practically dove off of Harry, sprawling across the grass next to the taller boy.

“Oi, lovebirds, let me know when you’re done trying to lick each others’ tonsils!” Zayn hollered, though there was a good-natured grin on his face.

Harry sighed, having half a mind to flip Zayn off, but as Zayn was his ride home, he quickly decided against it.  He turned back to Louis, grinning as he saw the red lipstick smeared across his face. “I was right, you do look good in red.”

Louis playfully nudged Harry with his elbow, reaching up to try and rub the makeup off, but the cheap lipstick had stained his skin.  Harry wanted to laugh, but he knew he was in for the same fate himself. “Wait, give me your mobile.  I got a new number,” he said as Harry handed over his phone, letting Louis type in his number and add himself as a contact.

Harry grinned as Louis returned his mobile, pleased to have a direct line to his boyfriend ( _boyfriend!_ ) at all times. “I’ll call you soon,” he promised.

  “You’d better,” Louis said, pulling him in for a quick kiss goodbye before shooing Harry away.  Harry reluctantly trotted away, climbing into Zayn’s car and turning to wave at Louis, not turning away until after they had turned the corner and Louis was out of sight.

“Are you going to explain your outfit?” Zayn asked, smirking as he took in Harry’s smeared makeup and flower crown.

“Shh!  You can be snarky later,” Harry hissed, pulling out his phone and picking out Louis’s contact in his phone book.  Louis picked up after the third ring. “Told you I’d call you soon.”


	16. Chapter 16

“ _Mum_!  Where are the matches?”

“Check in the cupboard.”

“Where are the candles?”

“In the hall closet.”

“No, the nice ones – the scented ones!”

“Still the hall closet.”

Harry frowned and scuttled through the house, feet slapping against the floor as he ran.  The closet shuddered dangerously in its tracks as he yanked it open and pawed through it, finally pulling out a few jar candles and sniffing them to make sure they were the right ones.

“What time is it?” he yelled, skittering back into the kitchen and strategically placing the candles around the room, trying to create the perfect ambiance that always seemed so prevalent in romantic films.

“Half five; you’ve still got a few minutes,” Anne replied, walking into the kitchen with her overnight bag hanging off her shoulder.

“Okay, great.  Have fun, love you, bye!” Harry dismissed her absently, trying to be as sincere as he could whilst rushing back to the stove to stir at the pot of Alfredo sauce threatening to burn and boil over.

“Whoa, hey, not so fast!  I still have to give the required ‘be responsible’ speech,” Anne reminded him with a laugh.

“Do you have to?”

“Yes, it’s a legal requirement of being a mum.  Very harsh punishment if I don’t comply.”

Harry sighed and turned the heat down on the burner before turning back to face her. “Okay,” he grumbled.

“Rule one: use condoms.”

“ _Mum_!” Harry squawked, face heating. “I’m not – I mean, we don’t—”

“Oh, Harry, please.  I’m under no delusions about you two.  Besides, I found a receipt for lube in your pocket when I was doing the laundry yesterday,” Anne explained with a dismissive wave. “Rule two: nobody else comes over, apart from Louis.

“Well, there go my plans for an orgy,” Harry said sarcastically.

“Which brings me to rule three: I don’t care what you do, but please disinfect any surfaces you do it  _on_.”

Harry wanted to melt into a puddle right there on the kitchen floor, his face burning like hot coals. “This is so wrong,” he muttered.

Anne pretended not to hear him, leaning over to kiss both his cheeks and ruffle his hair fondly. “I’ll be back around noon tomorrow.  You boys have fun!”

Harry didn’t move a muscle until after he’d heard the front door close and lock behind Anne.  He tried to push that conversation as far from his thoughts as possible as he launched back into action, checking on his shrimp and stirring the pasta.

It was the first proper night that he and Louis were going to spend together.  The two had spent the past few months going back and forth between London and Doncaster for visits, but it had always felt quite rushed and a bit too public, what with their families hovering over them, snapping pictures of the two and cooing about how ‘ _cute_ ’ they were together.  As much as Harry loved his family, he did want to spend some time  _alone_  with Louis.

But now that that time was approaching, Harry found himself panicking.  He’d gone all-out; he’d cleaned up his entire room, bought himself a new bedspread (his old covers had far too many questionable stains to impress Louis, and he could attribute that to his love of eating in bed) along with matching curtains, and even made a full three-course meal all on his own just for the occasion.  Anne had laughed as she watched him fuss about the house, an ‘ _isn’t my son adorable_ ’ expression on her face the entire time.

The doorbell chimed just as Harry had finished setting the table, and he bit back a girlish yelp at the sudden noise.  He sucked in deep breaths, giving everything a quick once-over to make sure everything looked presentable before scampering off to the door.  Just as he laid his hand on the door knob, he took a moment to suck in a deep breath, straighten himself up, and put what he hoped looked like a natural, easygoing smile on his face before opening the door.

Louis was in the house like a flash, wrapping his arms around Harry and pulling him in to a tight hug.  His fingers dug into Harry’s back, as if trying to latch on as securely as possible, but Harry wasn’t about to complain.  He had missed this, missed the way their bodies fit so well together. Louis’s warm curves were snug against his own lanky angular figure, his silky hair tickling Harry’s chin as he rested it down atop Louis’s head, the familiar smell of soap and laundry detergent and something intangibly  _Louis_ enveloping him once again.  It was amazing, how he could go so long without feeling this, and yet every time he found himself here in Louis’s arms it felt more and more like home to him.

After a few moments Louis pulled back, ignoring the reluctant whine Harry gave in protest.  Louis giggled upon properly seeing Harry’s face, and he licked his thumb before reaching up to scrub it against Harry’s cheek. “You’ve got some white dust there.  You haven’t taken up cocaine, have you?”

Harry rolled his eyes and smacked Louis’s hand lightly before taking it in his own, pulling it close to his chest and kissing Louis’s soft palm. “No, you idiot.  It’s flour.”

“Flour?  You’re snorting  _flour_?” Louis teased, toeing off his shoes and shifting his overnight bag onto the floor as delicately as possible, doing everything in his power to manage each task without having to pull his hand away from Harry.

“I made dinner –  _and_  dessert,” Harry announced proudly, leading Louis into the kitchen.

“What a gentleman,” Louis said as Harry pulled out his chair for him.

“It’s all for show; I’m just trying to get into your pants,” Harry replied, kissing the top of Louis’s head before taking his own seat on the other side of the small table.

“So far, you’re doing a pretty good job.”

Harry tensed up slightly, trying not to think about what the night had in store.  As eager as he was to just skip the entire dinner and move straight up to the bedroom, things were different with Louis.  Harry found himself actually wanting to be with him, talk to him, spend time with him, especially since it had been so long since they’d last seen each other.

Harry asked about Louis’s sisters, his mum, his school, his friends, and every other aspect of Louis’s life that he could think of, soaking up every detail eagerly.  Every so often Louis would try to spin the questions around and ask about Harry, but Harry was determined to keep the subject on Louis.

“You know, as great as the third degree is, I want to hear about you,” Louis said finally, glancing down at his still-full plate.  He hadn’t had enough time to get more than three mouthfuls of food down, what with having to constantly answer Harry’s questions.

Harry sighed, a thoughtful frown pulling at his lips as he tried to think of something interesting.  It seemed like his life consisted of nothing but football, school, sleep, missing Louis, and complaining to anyone who would listen about how much he missed Louis (Zayn had gone so far as to demand a dollar every time Harry so much as said Louis’s name).

“Um…well, Zayn’s got a date tonight,” Harry offered.

Louis pulled a face, evidently displeased that this news wasn’t about Harry himself, but he seemed to humor him. “Oh?  Anyone I know?”

“Y’know Liam, from the football team?”

Louis nearly choked on a mouthful of garlic toast. “Well, I didn’t see that one coming.  Is he…?”

Harry shook his head. “He calls Liam ‘the exception’.”

“Good on him, then.” Louis nodded. “Liam’s fancied him for long enough; it’s nice to see things work out for those two.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a small smile, wondering if someone had ever said the same thing about him and Louis.  Maybe things really  _had_  worked out for them, then.  Yeah, they were still trying to work through the whole ‘long distance’ thing, and yeah, they’d faced quite a few bumps in the road, and sure, maybe there would be more bumps in the road to come, but he wasn’t about to let Louis go.  Not again; he’d learned from his mistakes the first time round.

Harry started clearing the table as soon as Louis had finished, stacking the plates and trying not to make any spills or knock anything over. “I made dessert, did you want some?”

Louis cleared his throat and stood, shifting his weight onto his heels and rocking back. “Actually, I think it’d be best if we let our stomachs settle a bit.  Maybe get a bit of exercise.  Y’know…burn off supper before we eat anything else.”

Harry let the plates drop to the counter with a loud clatter, all thoughts of cleaning up instantly forgotten.  He stepped forward and snaked his arms around Louis’s waist, pulling the smaller boy off his feet and against his body. “To the bedroom, then?”

Louis wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist to steady himself, giggling quietly as Harry started peppering kisses across his neck. “Well, we could always try a moonlit stroll,” he joked.

Harry grumbled incoherently in disapproval, starting up the steps and nibbling at Louis’s collarbones gently, smiling to himself as he heard Louis’s breath catch.

It proved to be rather difficult to twist the doorknob to his room open whilst keeping a secure grip on Louis, but he managed to do it, stumbling breathlessly into the room.  His heart felt like it was beating a million miles an hour in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the nerves.  He  _was_ nervous, strangely enough.  He knew why, if he was being completely honest; he’d never really had sex with Louis like he wanted to tonight.  Every time they’d fooled around,  _Harry_  had been the one to take control, to set the pace.  He knew tonight would be different; tonight would be about both of them, about pleasure on both sides, about taking it slow and exploring and  _enjoying_ , and he was scared.  He felt like it would make him more vulnerable somehow, more prone to mistakes now that the playing field was level, but it was what he wanted, and he wasn’t about to let his silly little nerves get in the way.

Louis wriggled out of Harry’s arms and pulled his neck away from his lips, leaving Harry to admire the faint marks he’d left across the tan skin of Louis’s throat.  Harry reached out to grab Louis’s wrist, gently pulling him back to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

Louis giggled and swatted Harry away, face glowing with joy as Harry showered him with the attention he deserved but rarely seemed to get. “Have you got… _y’know_?”

Harry scrambled over to his nightstand, pulling out a box of condoms and a bottle of lube and holding them out to Louis almost frantically.  He didn’t really know how this was meant to go down – he’d only ever had sex with Louis on the football pitch, and with a few girls he’d met at seedy clubs and never seen since, so he didn’t have much experience when it came to  _real_  sex – but he was determined to do this properly.

Louis grinned and took the box and bottle from Harry, setting them down on the bed before pouncing on him, tackling him to the bed and straddling his hips with his knees tight on either side of Harry’s narrow hips.  It was Louis’s turn to take the lead now, feverishly kissing Harry’s lips until they were even more pink and swollen than normal.

“Shirt, off – please,” Harry panted, adding the ‘please’ as an afterthought.  Speech seemed beyond him at that moment, his thoughts a jumbled mix of broken phrases and words that he just couldn’t piece together.

Louis let out a breathy laugh and nodded, leaning back and pulling his shirt over his head in one jerky motion.  He tensed up slightly, arms crossing over his stomach to hide the insecurities that Harry knew all too well.

Harry grabbed Louis’s wrists and gently pulled them away from his torso, giving a small encouraging smile and trying to silently remind him that it was okay, that he had nothing to hide – not now, not when it was just the two of them alone like this.

  “Your turn,” Louis urged, tugging desperately at the hem of Harry’s shirt.  His small fingers flew up to start at the buttons without waiting for Harry to work at them himself, leaving Harry free to lean back and watch the look of intent determination on Louis’s face, a small smile pulling at his lips.

Once Louis had managed to get Harry’s shirt off, he immediately went to work at getting Harry’s trousers off (and, given how tight his current pair of jeans were, it was no easy feat).  As much as Harry wanted to make it as difficult as possible for Louis so he could continue to watch that look of frustration on his face, Harry found himself taking pity on him, and he raised his hips off the bed to allow Louis to pry the tight fabric down his legs.

Harry made a pleading sound in the back of his throat, grabbing Louis and pulling him down for another kiss, fingers running through his feathery hair.  Louis let himself melt into it, hands resting across the plane of Harry’s chest, but after a few moments his fingers seemed to grow restless, edging their way closer to the band of Harry’s boxers and slipping under.  Louis’s mouth left Harry’s, moving to kiss his way down Harry’s torso and stopping at his waist, his hands closing around Harry’s cock and pulling it out of his pants.

“I missed you,” Harry mumbled.  He wasn’t entirely sure  _why_  he’d said it; this whole thing felt so surreal to him, honestly, and he was still struggling to keep a clear head.

“Interesting timing,” Louis said with a laugh, hot breath washing over Harry’s cock, making him shudder slightly.

Louis leaned down, capturing the head of Harry’s length in his mouth, and let his tongue lap at the slit, every motion gentle, just barely encasing Harry in wet warmth, and Harry bit back the initial reaction to buck his hips up into the sensation.

Louis lifted his head, removing his lips from Harry’s cock to lick a thick line up the underside, tongue following the thick vein for guidance, and as his tongue reached the tip he secured his lips around Harry’s length once again.  He didn’t stop his mouth at the head this time; instead, he bobbed his head down, taking as much of it as he could before it bounced off the back of his throat.

“ _Oh_ ,” Harry gasped, fingers clenching into fists around the sheets.  He felt Louis’s lips pull into a smug grin around his length, but he kept his rhythm, pulling himself back until only the tip was in his mouth before swallowing Harry down again.  His hands planted themselves firmly on Harry’s hips, holding them down as he tried to buck up into Louis’s mouth.

He wasn’t sure  _why_  Louis was driving him up the wall like this after just a few moments; the technique lacked a bit of finesse, just barely verging on sloppy.  Maybe it was the sheer enthusiasm of it; all the girls who’d blown Harry had just been doing it to get him off, whereas Louis was taking his time, experimenting, trying to see what Harry liked, testing out different rhythms and actions and depths.  Or maybe it was knowing that it was  _Louis’s_  mouth around him,  _Louis_ making him feel like this,  _Louis_  who was so damned eager to please him.  And, as he glanced down to see Louis hunched over him, mouth firmly closed over his length and blue eyes glancing up to meet Harry’s, the electric rumbling low in his stomach confirmed that, yeah, it was probably all to do with Louis.

Louis’s fingers closed around the base of Harry’s length, pumping at it where his lips couldn’t reach, determined to leave no space neglected.  His breath ghosted over Harry’s bare belly, feathery fringe tickling his skin, and Harry was swallowed up with the desire to be closer.  It was strange – he was literally  _in Louis’s mouth_  – but he still felt like they were too far away for his liking.  He reached down, hand resting on the smooth warm skin of Louis’s shoulder blade, and he wasn’t sure why, but it made him feel a bit better, a bit safer.

Louis seemed to hit his stride soon after, settling into a slow but sensual rhythm that had Harry panting and writhing into the sheets.  Harry could already feel himself slipping, a numb, tingly feeling crawling up from his toes to the soles of his feet to his calves.

“Stop, stop,” Harry choked, pulling Louis off before he lost himself.  He didn’t want to come like that, not tonight.

Louis obediently pulled back, blinking up at Harry a few times with a startled look on his face, but his expression quickly grew smug as he realized how completely  _ruined_  Harry was.  He climbed back up Harry’s body, kissing him briefly, but before he could pull back Harry snaked his arms around Louis’s waist to hold him there.  He pulled the smaller boy flush against him and rolled over, effectively trapping Louis underneath him, but he was careful to support his own body weight on his elbows so he wasn’t crushed.

“You okay?” Harry asked, his lips hovering over Louis’s, their mouths just barely touching as he spoke.

Louis gave a small nod, a mischievous smile in his eyes as he quickly tilted his head up to steal a sly kiss.

Harry felt so happy, his heart might have burst.

As much as he would have liked to stay like that, his painfully hard cock reminded him that there were more pressing matters at hand right now.  He fumbled through the covers for the bottle of lube, squirting it into his palm and clumsily coating his fingers with it.

Louis took this opportunity to shimmy out of his trousers and pants, letting them fall off the edge of the bed in a crumpled heap, before laying on his back and awaiting further instruction from Harry.

Sure enough, Harry took his cue. “Knees up, love,” he urged, guiding Louis’s legs up against his chest, splaying them open, and Louis was quick to follow his lead.  He watched Harry with a curious but fond look on his face, settling back into the bed as Harry used his non-lubed hand to ghost across Louis’s arse, his thighs, his tummy, savoring the feeling of the warm, inviting skin under his palm, coming to rest on the crook of his hips.

The lube-coated hand, however, positioned itself over Louis’s arse, index finger dipping in to trace over the puckered flesh, spreading slick lube in its wake.  He pressed a kiss to the underside of Louis’s thigh, soft and sweet, before pushing his finger inside, movements slow as he worked against the resistance of the tight muscle.

Harry cast a quick glance up at Louis’s face, making sure he was still okay, only to see that his eyes had fluttered shut, his head tossed lightly to the side and his hands still pulling his legs in to his chest, like he had shut himself off to the world.  He didn’t look like he was in any sort of discomfort, and Harry took this as a sign that he was still okay.  He slowly withdrew his finger, watching as Louis’s brow furrowed for just a split second at the change, but his face soon settled back into a peaceful expression.

As Harry’s finger continued to pump in and out of Louis, slowly but steadily, he turned his attention to Louis’s body, leaving soft little kisses over his thighs and stomach and chest.  He liked this, liked being able to just cover Louis’s body with soft kisses, map his skin with his mouth, discover the way the smooth curves and angles of his body felt against his lips.

He seemed to lose track of time, but as soon as he had snapped back to reality he could feel Louis bucking his hips back to meet his finger, writhing and wriggling against his hand.  Harry slowly inserted a second finger, and Louis let out a quiet hiss of pleasure, feet flexing and toes wiggling as he tried not to push back into Harry’s hand.

Harry picked up the pace a little, the lube helping his digits slide smoothly and cutting through the resistance.  Louis’s teeth dug into his lip, quiet whimpers sounding in the back of his throat.

“More,” he murmured, barely waiting a few moments after Harry had inserted the second digits.

“You sure?” Harry murmured.

Louis nodded frantically, back arching up off the bed in his desperation.

Harry obliged, pushing in a third finger.  He tried to keep the movement slow and fluid but he had barely gotten it in up to the first knuckle when Louis started bucking back into his hand, whining and moaning quietly.

For a few moments Harry let Louis writhe back into him, fucking himself on Harry’s fingers, watching with fascination.  Louis looked really  _beautiful_  like this, his face flushed pink and his brow furrowed in concentration, strands of his sweat-dampened fringe sticking to his forehead.  It was breathtaking, really.

“More,” Louis pleaded once again, chin quivering.

Harry was a little taken aback at how quickly Louis had adjusted.  He moved to slip in a fourth finger, but Louis shook his head, startling at the added pressure.

“No,  _deeper, faster_ ,” he corrected, shimmying back into place once Harry had fully removed his fourth finger.

Harry nodded, though the action was rather useless as Louis’s eyes were still shut tight.  He pushed his fingers in as deep as they could go, making sure to be slow and careful, and he knew he was at least doing  _something_  right when Louis let out a broken gasp just as Harry wiggled his fingers.

“Again,” Louis whined, hips bucking off the mattress.  His legs seemed to twitch, unsure whether to spread themselves open or squeeze shut, trying to find the position that would best amplify the faint pleasure stirring inside him at Harry’s touch.

Harry obeyed instantly, fingers wriggling with a bit more intensity than the first time, trying to find the bundle of nerves tucked away inside the smaller boy.  He spread his digits apart slowly, coaxing Louis open, and curved his fingers, bumping against his prostate.

Louis almost jolted off the bed, the explosive sensations seeming to take him by surprise.  Harry paused for a moment, letting him settle down, before gingerly repeating the motion, fingers spreading a little wider each time to get him prepped.

“I’m ready,” Louis said in a broken voice after a few moments, voice breaking and his body rocking in rhythm with Harry’s movements, skin flushed and glowing with a few beads of sweat.  He sat up, using his shaking arms to try and prop himself up, and looked at Harry with wide eager eyes.

“You sure?”

Louis nodded, grabbing the box of condoms and holding it out to Harry urgently as a form of response.

Harry laughed and took the box, tearing it open and snatching a small foil packet.  He struggled with it for a few moments, trying to rip the smooth packet open with lube-covered fingers, before finally holding it out to Louis with a desperate look on his face.

Louis giggled and took the packet, wiping the lube off the foil and clumsily tearing it open and handing it back to Harry, watching as the taller boy smoothed the rubber over his length.  Harry squirted a few more pumps of lube into his hand for good measure, stroking himself a few times to spread it across his cock, before stopping abruptly and straightening up.

 “Could you sit up for a second?” Harry asked, pecking a kiss to Louis’s cheek.  Louis complied, confused but willing, and Harry lied down on his back, head propped up against the pillows.  He reached over and gently took hold of Louis’s hips, guiding them until they were directly above his own.

“What are you…?” Louis began, brows furrowing together.

“I want you to control this, okay?  Make it however fast or deep  _you_  want it,” Harry explained, guiding Louis into place until the smaller boy was properly straddling him.

“You want me to ride you?”

Harry nodded, watching Louis’s expression carefully to try and gauge his reaction.  Louis paused for a moment, teeth digging thoughtfully into his lower lip and brow furrowing as he contemplated his position, but once he had settled in and tightened his knees around Harry’s hips, his expression changed.  He grew more sure of himself, moving slow, testing the position out.  He rocked his hips against Harry’s, his bare cock slipping against Harry’s sheathed one, and though Harry wasn’t sure if this had been deliberate to begin with, Louis quickly began to grind into the feeling, back flexing and shoulders tensing as he supported himself through the motions.

Harry had to dig his fingers into Louis’s hips, stilling them, to keep himself from getting lost in the sensation. “Too much,” he stammered out as an explanation.  He was too riled up for that, too close to the edge to handle it.

Louis nodded, the smug grin on his face marred a little by the shaky look to his face as he tried to quell his own climax. “How do you want me to, um…” he murmured, trying to readjust himself atop Harry, movements slow and uncertain.

Harry wiggled his hips slightly, shimmying into place underneath Louis, before reaching up to guide Louis’s hips down. “Okay, that…just, uh…when you’re ready.”  He cringed upon hearing how completely idiotic and nervous he sounded, but Louis just looked down at him and giggled breathlessly.

Louis reached between his legs, dainty fingers curling around Harry’s cock and guiding it up underneath him.  He hovered there for a moment before settling himself down, slow but sure in his actions, until the entire head was inside him.  His eyes widened a bit and his breath caught in his throat, but after a few seconds of a pause he let himself sink further down on Harry’s length, not stopping until his arse was nestled against Harry’s hips.

“You okay?” Harry murmured, not missing the slight wince that flashed across Louis’s face.  He took Louis’s hand in his and pulled it to his face, pressing light kisses across his fingertips and down his palm.

Louis nodded. “Just…it’s a lot,” he explained, trying to brush it off with an airy laugh.  Harry could see the way his muscles tensed, the smaller boy already adjusting to the stretched, full feeling, but he waited patiently for Louis to move himself.

When Louis finally  _did_  move, the motions started out small and barely noticeable – just a gentle rock back and forth, bottoms of his thighs chafing against Harry’s sweat-beaded waist – but it quickly grew more intense.  Louis leaned backwards, back arching and hand reaching behind him to hold himself up, and pushed himself up on his quivering knees.  Harry could feel Louis clenching tightly around him as he lifted himself up, and it took every ounce of willpower he had to keep himself from thrusting upwards and following the silky tight heat.  He couldn’t; he had promised that this would be  _Louis’_ s night, he reminded himself.

Louis seemed to gain a sudden sense of self confidence, all hesitation evaporating from his expression as he slowly sank back down on Harry’s cock.  He grew more steady, taking on an almost  _graceful_  look as he built up a steady rhythm.

Harry was fascinated by every part of it.  He loved the way Louis’s brow furrowed ever so slightly in concentration, the way his teeth dug into his lower lip, the way the smooth supple curves of his body shone with a faint sheet of perspiration.  Every part of him looked glorious like this, like he was in his element.  Harry was fascinated, watching the way the muscles in his torso tensed and relaxed with each movement, the way Louis’s thick, firm thighs squeezed into his hips for leverage with every thrust.  Every part of him was poetry, was beautiful, was worthy of having a shrine built its honour, and it was damned hard for Harry to believe that all of this was  _his_.

His admiration was cut short when Louis bucked his hips forward just as he sank down once again, the head of Harry’s cock nudging against his prostate and ripping a shaky mewl from his quivering lips.

“ _Ohh_ ,” he gasped, slumping forward from the unexpected wave of pleasure.  He lifted himself back off, muscles looking significantly weaker as he tried to recreate the position.  He tried to slide slowly back down onto Harry, but his legs seemed to give out under him, leaving him to drop onto Harry’s chest, but it seemed to work nevertheless as he breathed out a low whisper of, “ _oh, fuck_.”

 Louis’s tremors and gasps were having an equally potent effect on Harry, who found himself writhing underneath Louis, desperate for friction but trying his best to let Louis control this himself.

“Harry…I can’t, can you…” Louis whimpered, weakly bucking his hips as best as he could.

“Do you want me to take over?” Harry asked softly, trying to sound as composed as he could.

Louis nodded weakly, nuzzling his face into the warm skin of Harry’s chest.  Harry tightened his grip around the smaller boy’s waist before bucking his hips up, trying to be slow but thorough as he filled Louis up.  Everything felt like a swirling mess around him, nothing but a blurry picture of sheets and clothes scattered on the floor, pale moonlight streaming in through the open window.  The only thing that felt concrete was Louis, a solid warm weight settled on top of Harry, anchoring him, holding him down through it all.

He’d never thought sex could be like this, to be honest.  His love for Louis was swallowing him up, consuming him, pulling him in deeper, making the edges of their bodies less distinguishable.  It felt like they blended into each other at every point where their skin met, and Harry didn’t want them to ever separate again.

Louis slipped his hand in between their bodies, fingers closing around his own cock, and he started to stroke at his length with frantic, broken fervor, evidently trying desperately to relieve the pressure that was building up inside him.  Harry set the rhythm of his hips to match the pace of Louis’s strokes, doing everything he could to help push Louis over the edge – which, judging by his desperate whimpers and tensed muscles, wouldn’t take too long.

Harry could feel his own climax pulling at him, making his toes curl and skin hum with electricity, and the speed of his hips grew quicker, more frantic, writhing and grinding without any real rhythm.

“G – gonna,” Louis whimpered, every muscle in his body tensing and spasming.  A shaky moan escaped his lips as he came, hot white streams splashing across the stomachs of both boys.

Harry held Louis tight through his climax, murmuring hushed praise in his ear. “So good, Lou, you’re so good, love you so much.”  The words came to a choked halt when Louis gave a particularly violent shudder, squirming on his cock in just the right way.  With just a few more thrusts, he was done – pushed over the edge, heart pounding and head spinning as he came into the tip of the condom.

Harry laid there for a few moments, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.  He didn’t think he’d ever come quite so hard before; his muscles tingled and his skin felt strangely luminous, still buzzing with the aftereffects of his climax.

When he peeked his eyes open, he saw Louis staring at him with big smiling eyes, chin resting on Harry’s chest.  As soon as he saw Harry’s eyes open, though, he shifted to lay beside the taller boy, nestling into his side.

“You said you loved me,” Louis reminded him, voice light but smug.

Harry froze, swallowing thickly. “D – did I?”

“Mhm,” Louis murmured with a nod, eyes still trained on Harry’s expression.

“Oh.  I, um…oh.” Harry blinked, trying to figure out what to say now, before deciding to simply press on with it. “Well, I meant it.  So.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

Louis broke out in a grin, hiding his face against Harry’s chest. “Say it again?” he asked.

Harry chuckled softly, glad to see that at least Louis hadn’t been put off by his feelings. “I love you,” he said, ruffling Louis’s hair fondly.

Louis’s smile grew wider. “I love you too.”

Harry felt like his heart was swelling up like a balloon, growing bigger and bigger until it was pressed up against his ribcage, and he wondered if it was possible for a person’s heart to literally explode from sheer elation.

For a few moments, the two just laid there, enjoying the fact that they were finally together and able to actually hold each other.  Harry had actually started to wonder if Louis hadn’t just fallen asleep when the smaller boy spoke.

“I got in to the University of Northampton,” he said. “It’s in between Doncaster and London, so I can stay close to my mum and my sisters without being too far away from you.”

Harry blinked, dumbfounded; he hadn’t even known Louis had  _applied_  there. “That’s great!” he said, once he’d gotten over his initial surprise.  He tightened his grip on Louis and leaned down to kiss his head.

Louis grinned. “I didn’t want to say anything until I knew whether or not I’d been accepted.”

“University of Northampton…that’s a really good school, isn’t it?  Y’know, I think I could do worse, as far as universities go.  Maybe I should send in an application.” Harry said teasingly, though his words were serious; he wanted to suggest it as a joke so he could see Louis’s reaction.

Louis lit up, flashing one of those beautiful genuine smiles that made his eyes crinkle. “You’d do that for me?”

“Well, not  _just_  for you.  I hear they’ve got a great law program,” Harry said nonchalantly, but he punctuated his sentence by giving Louis a light squeeze against his side.

“I hope you don’t plan on getting in on a football scholarship,” Louis teased.

“Oi!” Harry yelped defensively, plastering a mock-offended look on his face.

“I love you,” Louis remedied, flashing Harry a shit-eating grin.

And Harry would be damned if hearing Louis say that wouldn’t fix every single problem in the world.

 


End file.
